


Sulahn'nehn's Judgement

by astrakhan



Series: Vir Sulahn'nehn [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Ancient Elvhenan, Angst, Angst and Porn, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arlathan, Awakening the Gods, Awkward Romance, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Dom Solas, Dragon Age - Freeform, Dragon Age Big Bang, Dragon Age Kink Meme, Dragon Age Lore, Dragon Age Rare Pair Exchange, Dragon Age Spoilers, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, Dream Sex, Drunk Sex, Drunken Confessions, Dysfunctional Family, Elven Empire, Elven Glory, Elven Gods, Epic, Eventual Happy Ending, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Fade Sex, Fade Tongue, Friends With Benefits, God Babies, God Complex, God Damnit Solas, God Tier, Gratuitous Smut, Healing Sex, Lesbian Sex, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Mental Instability, Multi, Plot, Post-Canon, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Post-Endgame, Rise of Arlathan, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Threesome - F/F/M, Threesome - F/M/M, Tragic Romance, Weird Elven Sexual Mores
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-13 11:03:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 38,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3379154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrakhan/pseuds/astrakhan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three years after the events of Dragon Age: Inquisition depicted in "Sulahn'nehn's Rise," Sulahn'nehn Lavellan rises from Inquisitor to become the first elven empress of the Chantry-granted lands of New Elvhenan. She manages her burdens without complaint, but her broken heart still plagues her, leading her to salacious acts that spread gossip throughout her lands. Suddenly, Solas returns, demanding her help in his quest to free the elven gods from their sleeping prison and return the city of Arlathan to Thedas once again. She forgives him at last, and together they resist the vengeance of the blight-maddened gods that threaten to invade all of Thedas.</p><p>Heavy references to Dragon Age lore throughout. There is also added head-canon in regard to the constellations and their powers.</p><p>Shoutout to my vhenans at <a href="http://www.reddit.com/r/Solasmancers/">/r/solasmancers</a> <3 Especially Staleina, who was really helpful when I was stuck with a moral debate about Sandal.</p><p>This story has been re-edited since its first publication in light of "Sulahn'nehn's Revolt"- some of the exposition about white lyrium and the founding of the empire was moved to that fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sulahn'nehn Lavellan I, Empress of New Elvhenan, wakes up beside her best friend and general, Briala, and goes about her day in her beautiful palace as she remembers how she came into her new power after the defeat of Corypheus.
> 
> NSFW chapter: Lavellan X Briala

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first few chapters of this story were bogged down with a lot of exposition about how she gained her empire and powers and that really bothered me, originally. It's just not readable. All that exposition is becoming action and dialogue in a new story, "Sulahn'nehn's Revolt" and I'm going to update both stories with chapters every few days.
> 
> Hopefully this will result in something even more epic ;P

Empress Sulahn’nehn I of New Elvhenan awoke from her pleasant Fade-touched dream to the white glow of her palace bedchamber in Atish’an, smiling and stretching as the gorgeous curlicues of molded purified lyrium set into the ceiling above her filled her waking eyes with their brilliance. The morning sunlight streamed in from the vast open archways that led to her great balcony, laden with white blossoms whose fragrance now wafted in to greet the empress in the crisp spring air.

As she sat up slowly, she felt a soft rustle beside her as Briala nuzzled in closer, her dark curls spilling over her freckled back to caress Sulahn’nehn’s naked body as her lover moved in to feel her warmth. The elven girl slowly turned to face her, her dark liquid eyes opening sleepily as she yawned. Sulahn’nehn smiled and stroked her hair, cradling her friend and lover in the nook of her arm as she gently kissed her forehead. 

“Good morning, Bria,” Sulahn’nehn said quietly as Briala sat up with a start. A small blonde elf peered through the creaking cracked door, hesitantly, as Briala scrambled to cover herself. Sulahn’nehn simply chuckled and stretched out. What shame was there in nakedness? Her handmaid dressed her frequently enough to see her proudly slender figure on a daily basis. And she knew more of the empress’s wild proclivities in the wake of her lost love than anyone else… moreover, Sulahn’nehn suspected she liked to watch.

“Come in, please, Leranni,” called the empress softly to her honored handmaid, who opened the door with her shoulder as she bore a flask of hot tea and an assortment of fine porcelain on a silverite tray and placed it on an ornate marble table, its legs crafted to mimic roots in the Dalish style.

Leranni turned to face her empress, tactfully ignoring Briala’s embarrassed presence. “Your Imperial Majesty, your silks are ready at the launderer’s. I will fetch them momentarily. May I assist you further this morning?”

“Thank you so much, Leranni, but that will be all. I would like to dress myself today. Feel free to take the morning to yourself after your task, you’ll still be paid for the work,” said the naked empress casually as she leaped off her enormous bed. The elven maid curtseyed to her, beaming, and turned to fetch her laundry as Sulahn’nehn gave her a nod and continued into her closet. 

A whole _room_ , just for her clothes. Briala had suggested the idea when Sulahn’nehn was still drafting the layout of the palace that would sit beside her academy, and Sulahn’nehn could still hardly believe the glory of it. She began to leaf through the rainbow of fine gowns and under-silks carefully hung side by side as she mused over the absurdity of her newfound wealth.

It was all she had ever dreamed of as a young Dalish girl, sewing quietly in her mother’s leaky aravel while her elders worked tirelessly in the meager camp outside. Speaking of her childish fantasies only brought her shame and derision from her ever-practical brother. She kept to herself for years, slipping away from the small fire-lit camp to gather rashvine and elfroot to weave into delicate and fantastical garments she could never bring herself to actually try on. 

She imagined they were for greater elves, for people like Sylaise, noble elves who could wear such things in their leisurely, work-free lives. Noble elves… the idea had been so preposterous to her people, for so long. She dared not even speak of it to her mother, their clan’s proud First until their Keeper passed in the wake of Sulah’nehn’s reluctant departure. 

Her brother would endlessly taunt her frivolous pursuits, brandishing and mocking the dresses she worked so hard to weave and sew from scratch in front of his laughing friends before throwing them into the great hearth their clan built themselves around. Enasal was so cruel to her, so disapproving of their differences. He saw value only in hunting, bringing back great bear pelts from his trips with pride to the admiration of the weaker mages who filled their clan. In the face of his clan’s dedication to Sylaise, he flaunted his worship of Andruil. He was born to be First one day, and he knew it; a day never went by where he failed to proclaim his worth over Sulahn’nehn’s.

He taunted her fearlessly until her magic emerged one day in a flash of fiery anger, burning down their rickety old aravel as he fled for his life and she stood motionless and unharmed in the flames. He grew to fear and avoid her, mere archer that he was. But as punishment for the loss of their precious aravel, she was forced under her mother’s stern wing to train tirelessly as a dirthenera, a song-mage dedicated to Sylaise, and rarely saw the others in her clan again. Her world became the hearth and song, endless flames fueling endless melodies. And then she was sent away at the Arlath’vhen, sobbing at her mother’s feet as the tall red-haired fire priestess insisted there was no room for more like her in their clan, that the aravels the rival clan offered in return were worth more than her life. Everything changed.

Everything always changed. It didn’t have to any more, not now that she had the power to make the world the way she had always wanted it to be. She would change the world once and for all, build the elves the homeland they had once been promised, and it would last her own lifetime. After that, she could not protest the machinations of time.

Her fingers caught the smoothness of a garnet red satin slip, so delicate and soft. Sulahn’nehn carefully pulled it from its gilded trappings and slid the silky slip over her head and down her narrow hips. It was cut low to fit her precisely, tight and flattering in the right places while loose and comfortable over her waist. 

The slip was scandalously short, barely covering her thighs in the fashion she had gleefully decided to adopt when her position as Empress of the exotic land of New Elvhenan granted her the miraculous power of influence over the fashions of her empire, as well as the jealous Orlesian courts. She set the trends, now. None could look to her in scorn, no matter what she wore, a luxury that she appreciated fondly even as her position’s burden weighed heavily on her. 

It was, perhaps, the best part about being Empress, at least for Sulahn’nehn, who grew ever more artistic in her free pursuits of fashionable excess. The many tailors of her mercantile empire begged her to support their trades, but she refused them all, stubbornly continuing to only wear clothes and armor she had made herself. But none could deny the beauty and finery of her time-worn elven craftsmanship.

And, in all her finery, she was still a fire mage. She didn’t need _fabric_ to stay comfortable and warm. Sulahn’nehn possessed the luxury of focusing on form, any function of a garment rendered useless by her magical abilities. The others who blindly followed her lead at court were, perhaps, at a disadvantage, given Atish’an’s location in the frigid Emprise du Lion, magically enhanced to lushness as its scenery had become. She liked the climate. It was nice to have a cold place to build her favored hearths. The chill air made the glowing heat even more welcoming.

She began to walk towards her collection of great outer gown-frames, delicate yet armor-like in their construction and rigid enough to stand tall in their display even though they molded comfortably against her as she moved and sat. Sulahn’nehn heard a rustle behind her as Briala padded towards her, smiling, lightly armored once again as the great general she now was.

“That dress is incredible. It looks beautiful on you,” said the taller elf, looking down at her smiling empress with wide, dark eyes as she admired her form. Her obvious arousal swiftly ignited the empress’s own insatiable urges. Sulahn’nehn chuckled in response, stepping close to her general and pulling her in. “I know. I made it,” she whispered seductively up into the elven girl’s ear, eliciting a laugh. “Show off!” teased her Orlesian lover. 

Sulahn’nehn simply grinned and bit her lip as she began to undo the hooks that bound Briala’s rogue armor, leaning up for a kiss. “I just got ready! You should be-” protested Briala before Sulahn’nehn stared up at her with a sullen pout, in an exaggerated frown. She was not going to let anyone get away from her, when she wanted them, when they clearly wanted her too. Not again. 

“Wasn’t last night enough for you, your Radiance? You’re insatiable,” purred Briala, barely resisting as Sulahn’nehn continued her assault against the pernicious armor straps, kissing every inch of dark freckled skin left exposed as the pieces fell to the floor. Briala pulled off her undershirt and leggings impatiently as Sulahn’nehn deftly shed her light satin gown and let it crumple to the floor. 

Giggling, the two elves made their way to the chaise in the corner, where Sulahn’nehn hungrily pressed her lover down, straddling her thighs as she kissed her. Briala was giving as ever in her affections, pressing back up with a moan and stroking her hair as Sulahn’nehn slid a practiced finger against her. 

They tumbled across the narrow chaise, falling to the richly carpeted floor with a thud and a giggle as they ignored their clumsiness and focused on each other, their moans muffled by their frenzied kisses. The two girls finally lay quietly on the floor of the wardrobe caressing and kissing, surrounded completely by the ornate finery they had come to ignore.

“We need to get you ready,” sighed Briala, standing to retrieve her undershirt. Sulahn’nehn begrudgingly stood and walked to the crumpled mess of gown she had shed, stepping back into it and lifting the straps easily back over her shoulders with an easy shrug. 

Briala had already strapped on her armor, so graceful and swift, and walked towards her impatiently. “You have an important meeting today, your Majesty. The Council of Elders will be here soon; they would not state the matter, but stressed its importance,” continued the general, less affectionate now in her tone than earlier. 

Sulahn’nehn never liked it when Briala took an official tone with her, but understood its necessity. Any sweeter words from those honeyed lips, and she would not have been able to focus. She rolled her eyes at Briala’s words. “As usual, they won’t talk until they can complain to my face. All right, I’ll be ready soon. I’ll meet you in the court antechamber. Please call the examining student in to perform to us all directly,” sighed the new empress, moving quickly to select her chosen outer garment for the day as Briala bade her a chaste farewell and quickly left the small room.

Given the occasion, it was an easy enough choice; of all the delicately wrought gowns she had hand crafted from her own invented schematic, only one was truly unique. It glowed on its own on a pedestal, casting white light on her as she approached it; an ornately latticed bodice and skirt made entirely of purified lyrium, the rarest substance known in Thedas. The key to her newfound wealth. Sulahn’nehn gingerly lifted it, opening its tiny buckles, and slowly tightened the bodice. The soft white curlicues of lyrium molded to her warmth and held itself around her like armor, casting a bright light against her pale skin and illuminating the red satin of her under-silk, its light bell-like skirt hovering brilliantly above her knees.

Sulahn’nehn smoothed down the folds of her deep red satin slip under the great glowing carapace of her crystal white cage gown as she headed gracefully back into her bedroom and sat down nimbly at her vanity. The stool had been built to accommodate the bell-like shape of her overskirt. Sulahn’nehn reached for her powder with ease and began to apply it to her clear, pale skin, smirking a little even now at the lack of vallaslin that allowed her so much room to experiment now with pigments. 

She had never loved her _vallaslin_ , the devotional blood-writing that had marked her entire face in glaring crimson since she came of age as an eleven year old in the service of the sleeping fire goddess Sylaise. She had never really been able to choose it; her mother had guided her path as soon as her magic appeared. What if she had wanted to follow Mythal or June, instead? She never had the opportunity to think about it as a child. She wondered how her brother had been able to follow Andruil so fiercely, when their mother had been so strict in her teachings of the Vir Atish’an. Perhaps his fierce pride was his armor against the world. A prickly armor indeed. Sulahn’nehn sighed and tried to quell her memories of the arrogant brother she was about to face that day as she lightly patted a dark red shimmery pigment on her eyelids, in stark contrast to the vivid yellow-green of her large elven eyes, and applied a dark wax to her long red lashes and brows.

She filled her lips with a deep blood red wax and surveyed her own appearance with a smile as she carefully gathered her long red hair into a complex knot above her head, her heart-shaped face framed with light by the great filigreed collar of her lyrium gown. It had taken much for the Dalish to accept her again without her _vallaslin_ , but it had not taken long for her. The shock of it was softened by the heart-wrenching loss of Solas himself, and she found joy in her clear face sooner than she ever found herself in his arms again. It was certainly easier to take joy in the ancient Orlesian art of _maquillage_ without angry red swirls covering her entire face. Not that the Dalish would appreciate such arts. The very sight of her unmarked face had been enough to cause an entire tent of Keepers to burst into argument two years ago.

Finally, her shoulder-length, fine crimson hair was carefully coiled into impressive whorls that would keep her red locks out of her face for the day. The spirals mimicked the petals of a red embrium flower, a style her mother had once taught her to wear for formal religious occasions. Sulahn’nehn wondered if she would notice. It seemed like the Elder Councillor barely remembered that she was the empress’s mother, these days.

She rose with quiet trepidation and made her way gracefully to the antechamber. The great halls of her palace glimmered throughout, its high arched stone ceilings set with tiny spheres of purified lyrium that looked like stars in the shadows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love fashion, but I can't sew to save my life. I imagined Sulahn'nehn as a really creative and well-trained elven seamstress, and she's really avant garde for the rest of Thedas once she can wear whatever she wants and use whatever materials she can think of. I imagined her courtly gowns looking a lot like [this Alexander McQueen](https://runninginheelzdotcom.files.wordpress.com/2012/01/cate-blanchett-alexander-mcqueen-curious-case-benjamin-button-la-premiere.jpg) dress.
> 
> I feel a little bad for her handmaid Leranni. She's seen some _shit._ Sulie's been increasingly insatiable since Solas left... and everyone knows it. She doesn't really care, since everyone else in Atish'an is now just as free with their love as she is. She's a terrible influence. At least the elven population's starting to rise again ;)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Empress begrudgingly meets her Council of Elders, who have a strange new conundrum involving Mythal. To her dismay, Solas finally shows up in her throne room after 3 unexplained years. She is not here for that, and kicks him the hell out of her precious city. She distracts herself by visiting some old friends, who are very good at reminding her that Solas isn't the only man in the world...
> 
> NSFW chapter: Iron Bull x Lavellan x Krem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little etymology for my head canon lore... "dirthenera" = "speak" + "spirit" = "spirit-speaker" or more literally "spirit singer" which is, like, their thing, y'know. Creators, I would love it if that became a mage specialization one day. It's literally just like the Bard specialization from Origins but for mages... A girl can dream.

Josephine and Briala awaited her alongside a tall dark-skinned elven girl and two of the professors from the College of Sylaise, the elven school’s training ground for aspiring young dirthenera.

The young mage would be the court’s entertainment for the day; her performance would be graded as part of her final examinations in the Elven School, granting her a diploma that marked her as a University-trained mage, an important event in the young girl’s life that left her standing shell-shocked as the Empress observed her.

Sulahn’nehn’s approach was glaringly conspicuous even as her bare steps fell in graceful silence; the light of her dress cast its favor on everything she passed, and she knew she would look like a brilliantly glowing star from a distance. Bria, Josie and the mages bowed as she approached, the young elf bowing twice, wide-eyed and star-struck in the presence of her fabled heroine empress.

Sulahn’nehn returned the bows deeply and smiled warmly at the young mage, extending a tiny molded lyrium flower in her hand, a minor favor she had created from a scrap of her dress in the seconds it took to walk from her room. “Merona, is it? Your professors have told me much of your talents. I was once a dirthenera myself, as you may know. I look forward to your performance today. I admit that I fully expect it to be the nicest part of my day,” the empress chuckled as she affixed the flower into the elven girl’s dark hair. The favor was small, but to the promising young girl it would be priceless, and she would treasure it forever. It took so little to win the love and loyalty of her people. It was all Sulahn’nehn truly wanted from them, as their empress, so numb in the loss of her own great love. She motioned to the guardsmen beside her, who began to open the great door to her throne room, where the seven elven chancellors of the Council of Elders already waited.

The young dirthenera’s performance was a tactical distraction. Sulahn’nehn knew the elders had a bone to pick with her, as they always did. In an effort to unify the religious beliefs of her empire, she had built one great, shining temple in Atish’an- a Pantheon- in service to any and all gods her people chose to worship, including the Maker and Andraste, who the former city elves still revered. Who was she to denounce some gods over others? So many cultures of Thedas had religions that overlapped, stories that told the same tales in different ways. She had learned that much in her studies throughout her transient life.

Over the years, her own faith in the gods had faced significant attrition, in the face of Corypheus’s demigodly might and Solas’s stories. She visited her great temple occasionally, after its great unveiling, but only meditated on the god’s aspect, pondering how its wisdom would help her rather than worshipping the god outright as they surely would have desired. Sulahn’nehn had long accepted the Dalish religion’s stories of godly exploits as moral metaphors meant to influence the lives of future elves, but many of the other Dalish keepers were far more literal in their devotion and balked at the heresy of allowing Sylaise to be worshipped directly alongside her sister Andruil. Never mind that they were still free to form temples dedicated to their chosen god wherever they pleased outside Atish’an.

Sulahn’nehn waited by the door and allowed the dirthenera to make her performative entrance as she began to sing the ancient elven song the shemlen called “I am the One”, Ame Amin, her arms raised to the sky as greenish balls of fire began to emanate from her palms and the delicate elvhen syllables flowed from her tongue. Sulahn’nehn knew this song all too well, and knew the basic boundaries of performance that went along with it. She waited for the overture to end, the dirthenera briefly freezing into a delicate sculptural pose with one leg raised gracefully as her conjured instruments hovered around her, before the empress entered quietly and sat at her throne. The eyes of the Dalish elders followed her as she sat, betraying a mix of emotions that ranged from neutral disappointment to overt scorn.

The throne was designed to easily impress. The seat itself was relatively small and simple; a round dais of crystal and purified lyrium that rose from the ground, just wide enough for her to sit. The back of the throne extended down from the ceiling in ornate stalactites of glowing white lyrium, a cascade of light that stopped right at the small of her back, leaving a gap for her great glowing skirts. The effect of Sulahn’nehn in her glowing gown on her dazzling throne was godly, a beautiful being of wisdom and light, an impressive show of her nation’s wealth and advanced magic that easily quelled any rebellion that most chose to bring to her palace. Save the Dalish, who despised those who took on such airs. They did not appreciate one of their own rising so prominently above them, though they would not have attempted it themselves.

Sulahn’nehn leaned into the back of her throne and smiled as she observed the dirthenera in her second song, a delightful rendition of “Sylaise’s Blessing” for which the song-mage alternately used a whole band of hovering lutes, drums and flutes conjured from veilfire as she danced for the spirits she called to accompany her.

The girl was talented, indeed; she eventually had eight spirits performing around her, no easy task, for these spirits could be neither bound nor directly trained. Coaxing companion spirits from the Fade to help the mage out of love and friendship was the provenance of the dirthenera. It had been a long time since Sulahn’nehn had performed with a spirit in front of a crowd. She still loved the practice, but she kept it to her private salons with friends. Alistair and Celene dearly loved her rendition of “The Dawn Will Come,” after all.

The girl’s performance finally ended with a soulful, haunting rendition of “In Uthenera na Revas”; she bowed on the center stage several times, first bowing to her instruments, which shook in happiness at her acknowledgement before their spirits returned to the Fade and their veilfire dissipated. She bowed to the gathered council and her professors, finally turning around to bow to her empress, who stood and clapped loudly with a beaming smile. Her reaction was met with obvious relief from the two professors, who nodded and bowed themselves before leading the young mage away. So much bowing. Everyone bowed to everyone else in Atish’an; even the Empress bowed to others. It was a symbolic gesture of their social equality.

The distraction was over. Hopefully the performance left the grumpy councillors with some evident measure of the progress her empire could give their culture. When was the last time they saw a 16-year old dirthenera do that? Even Sulahn’nehn in all her might still found it difficult to juggle the motivations of more than five spirits at once. The performance was frivolous, but it demonstrated the young girl’s great power and mastery over a variety of magical techniques, proving the effectiveness of the Elven School that still lay in contention.

“Andaran atish’an, my Elders. I understand a vital matter brings you here. I am ready to listen,” she called from her dais as the seven older elves left their great table and walked towards her to stand in a row, their brows furrowed.

Each Dalish elf in front of her was the Keeper of a great clan, serving a different god; the Council of Elders had been voted on by the gathered Keepers of every clan in Thedas at the last great Arlath’vehn to advise the elven leader after the Exalted Plains were given back to their people, and Sulahn’nehn’s influence as Inquisitor proved to extend itself well into the bosom of her own people as those chosen were those closest to the powerful Inquisitor in her life, to her great dismay.

The first Keeper chosen was the proud Atisha of Clan Atish’an, her mother, the one person who had the most control over her as a child, the first person who ever broke her heart as she sobbed at her feet and begged to be allowed to stay in her own clan. The second was Enasal of Clan Tanadahl, her cruel and domineering brother, who had in recent years broken from her mother’s Sylaise-focused clan to create his own clan in worship of Andruil and the Vir Tanadahl. And the third… the master craftsman Nargen of the June-worshipping clan Vehn’durgen, the Keeper who had punished her so severely as an errant youth.

Her opinion of all three of them was sorely soured by painful memories, and she did not doubt that they shared the same experiences when it came to her. Istmaethoriel of clan Lavellan, too, had been voted on to the council, a welcome voice of measured reason, but she abdicated her post when Sulahn’nehn asked her to serve as regent of Halamshiral itself, giving it to a wise old elf whose clan dedicated themselves to Mythal.

The other four elders were not so bad, though as stubborn and rigid as she would have expected, but the presence of the first three made their every meeting difficult. Every move she made was picked apart and questioned by her mother and brother, something she would find rather constructive if they did not insist on questioning her character in the process. For none in her life had been so dismissive of her dreams of beauty and knowledge as these elders throughout her life, and as much as she fought for change, they still stood in her way like great, disappointed monoliths.

The guilt of being so disconnected from her own family had always plagued her, but with them here it was so much worse. They tarnished her glories and her victories with their cutting words and endless complaints. The further apart she grew from her mother and brother, the more she threw herself into creating her idyllic new society, a great, loving family to replace the two who somehow had never loved her enough to accept her as she was.

This time, thankfully, the matter did not concern her directly. Aramae, the oldest of the Council, a wizened, crippled scholar with Mythal’s vallaslin, spoke gravely. “It is a matter of religion, da’len.” Only a Dalish elf would have the gall to refer to his Empress as a child. She was used to such slights from her elven council, by now, and paid them no heed. They argued enough for her pride to add to their complaints. “Mythal calls to us once more. We have all begun to hear her in our dreams. She calls to us to gather.”

Sulahn’nehn sat up straight, rather alarmed. Mythal had never visited her dreams, but she knew all too well that the goddess indeed existed in the capacity to do so. The ancient elven goddess had helped her defeat Corypheus, something the Council already knew, a fact that bolstered their dogmatic faith. To what end did she call the elven people? Why did she enter their dreams? She had heard enough whispers in the campus cloisters to know the Councillors were not the only elves experiencing strange dreams lately.

“I am well aware of this important matter, my hahren, though I am not sure what you expect me to do about the dreams of our people,” sighed the empress. Was she supposed to step into the Fade and ask Mythal to knock it off so they could all sleep easier? The goddess clearly did not ask for much, given the elves had already gathered long before the dreams seemed to start. Why did she now plague them to the point where Sulahn’nehn could hear the screams of those who lived at her court early each morning? At least she had left the empress alone, silently allied with her since their defeat of Corypheus.

Sulahn’nehn felt rather ambivalent on the matter. Clearly, something important was going on… but in the absence of any physical evidence, they would do nothing in this meeting but bicker, something Sulahn’nehn was not prepared to sit through another hour of around her two least favorite people in the universe.

Aramae raised a greyed eyebrow at her words. “We gather, my lady. We have sent word throughout Thedas for the clans to reconvene. We cannot call an Arlath’vehn, not yet, but we hear the call, and we gather in the Exalted Plains once again. We request the support of your guards.”

Ah, yes, the guards. The Dalish elders were quick to insult her when she employed others, calling her a petty slaver for being willing to employ someone to wash her silks. But what would that person have done without employment? The system worked, as long as it was kept fair and equal. Even Briala had been a handmaid once, and her exceptional qualities allowed her to rise to the esteemed position of a national spymaster. Anyone could follow suit, and rise to greatness, if they worked hard enough.

But many of the Dalish did not wish to work towards anything, did not aspire beyond the endless journey and the endless hunt, a cultural failing that had been allowed to continue for far too long. The Dalish idea of work was a mere day’s toil, a drudgery of chores to maintain one’s meager lifestyle without sustaining any new ideas to last. Hunt, cook, pray, rinse, repeat.

No new wisdom, no new thoughts or ideas save those that were passed down over time, losing a little more truth in each successive retelling until the ancient stories were warped beyond recognition. The least Sulahn’nehn could do was provide equal opportunities for those progressively minded young Dalish who did hold aspirations of their own. She would make sure that the soldiers she sent to the great Dalish encampment would have room for new recruits if any young Dalish wished to join them.

She smiled imperiously and nodded. “Of course, hahren. Your aravels will be kept safe from any bandits, demons or bears that may arise. Though, surely, Enasal’s proud hunters could make swift work of them without need of reinforcements?” She raised an eyebrow and smirked at her brother, who scowled humorlessly.

“There is also the matter of the dwarf,” called her mother’s grating voice, rising to change the subject in Enasal’s defense. “He should not be permitted to stay in Clan Vehn’durgen. He is a danger to our people.” The dwarf? Sulahn’nehn looked to Nargen quizzically, who shook his head sadly as he spoke.

“Yes. Da’len, I request your assistance in this matter. A dwarven merchant- Bodahn Feddic, whom you may remember from your youth- brought his idiot son to us for healing. The son is an adept enchanter, but his addled brain makes him a danger to the clan. He has already exploded several caves and injured our hunters in an attempt to protect us from spiders. His skills would be useful to you, and he will be less of a danger in Atish’an. I humbly request that the boy Sandal and his father be sent here, to free my clan of his burden.”

Sandal? The name was familiar. Sulahn’nehn suddenly remembered why: Dagna had once told her of a simple-minded dwarf who was secretly the greatest enchanter in the land. Could they be the same person? Such a gifted individual would be a jewel in her empire. Of course he would be welcome.

“Yes, he is welcome to become a citizen of our lands. Please ask him to come to court directly. There is certainly room for more scholars in the College of Arcanists,” nodded Sulahn’nehn, smiling to herself in excitement. She remembered Bodahn from her childhood, the merchant whose lyrium shard she stole in an attempt to hear the song. The shard was three times as big by the time she returned it. “Will that be all, my Elders?”

They stood and nodded, looking to each other. Finally, Atisha turned imperiously on her bare heel, tossing her carefully braided red hair proudly as she stalked out of her daughter’s throne room, the other elders following her steps doggedly.

Sulahn’nehn sighed and stretched, the dreaded meeting finally over. It was only the first of the morning. A series of visitors followed, with a variety of concerns; an Orlesian noble wished to sell his lands and return to Orlais, another Rivaini artist had come to seek citizenship, an elf of Halamshiral was caught blackmailing his merchant rival and was brought to judgement. It seemed like the day at court would never end.

“You… have another visitor, your Radiance,” said Josephine, entering the room with a worried expression. “Should I send him in? He is… a known associate of yours…” she stammered hesitantly. Sulahn’nehn raised an eyebrow at Josephine’s nervousness. “Yes, please, Josie, do send him in. I’d like to get these blighted meetings over with before I head to the Arcanum,” she yawned impatiently. Josephine nodded at her like a stuck deer before motioning to the guards to open the door at the other end of the throne room. A familiarly slender hooded figure quietly entered, his face obscured but his drooping, pointed ears clearly visible.

It couldn’t be… Creators, what would she do now? She filled with panic as she shut her eyes tightly, barely allowing herself more than a fraction of a glimpse of the familiar figure that padded so confidently toward her. She couldn’t allow him to invade her memories of Atish’an. Not here. She had put too much effort into creating a world she could live in that didn’t have traces of him left in it. She couldn’t bear to open his eyes to look at him, lest the throne room she so loved and spent her every morning in became forever tainted by the pain of his momentary presence.

Her first instinct was to jump down from her dais and run to him girlishly, kiss him in front of everyone and declare him Emperor, but she hurt too much for too long to let him win her back so easily. If he wanted to come back, he would have to work for it, regardless of what he had been doing for the past three years.

“Where have you been, Solas?” was all she could utter, her voice cracking weakly in a whining voice that sounded nothing like the voice of an empress should. His words brought her back into the cloud of her memories. “Ma vhenan, I…” he started, hesitantly, his voice so quiet and sad. “I need your help.”

He said no more, gazing at her on her shining throne in wistful sorrow, a sight quickly branding itself in her memory to her consternation. He was the same Solas he had always been… and he had no answer for her, as usual. For a moment, she felt like she was in Skyhold again, so angry at his reticence. She suddenly hated him so much again.

She stood quickly to cast him out from her beloved city with insults before he could worm his way back into her heart, but composed herself for a moment before she let loose her furious tongue. It would not do to be so clearly impassioned in front of witnesses, strangers who were unaware of the source of her troubles, though her nymphomaniacal exploits had easily spread through the gossip at court. She did not care for her sordid reputation, having already influenced the culture of her empire into licentious freedom, but she was careful to avoid appearing weak in front of her people.

She spoke stiffly and formally, staring up at the ceiling to avoid his familiar gaze, as though he were an Orlesian noble she barely knew. “I have much to do here. Please speak to Josephine to schedule a formal appointment, and I will attend to your needs at Skyhold. Your presence is unwelcome in my beautiful capital, as a result of your thoughtless actions. If you need a job, you may return to Skyhold. I do believe you have a fresco to complete.”

She could no longer quell the fire from her voice by her last sentence. She swiftly turned to leave the room before she could look at his face, leaving him standing in silence, darkness falling on her stage even in the midst of her shining throne in the wake of her brilliant gown. She swiftly and angrily stalked back to the antechamber in anger at Josephine’s betrayal. Her friend knew all too well how much she hurt. Why had her sweet ambassador not warned her before his sudden entrance?

As she stormed into the antechamber, Josephine was pacing nervously. “My lady, are you all right?” her sweet friend asked, resting a concerned hand on her shoulder. The empress opened her mouth to speak, but could not find the words and helplessly burst into tears as Josephine hugged her tightly. “I am so sorry, your Radiance, I was misinformed. I was told he was an elven scholar with a discovery to show you, and we have so many here now… I did not recognize him until he was about to enter, and I panicked. I did not know whether to tell you or to show you, or if you wanted to see him at all,” Josephine stammered.

Sulahn’nehn shook her head and dried her eyes carefully with a silk handkerchief her ambassador offered. “It’s all right, Josie. I panicked, too. Fuck-ups all around. I finally told him off, at least. I’m sure he panicked as well when he ran off the first time,” she muttered, slowly calming down from the storm of her emotions. “I sent him to Skyhold, he’s going to contact you soon. I’ll meet him there in a day or two. It’ll be all right.” Her words of consolation were as much for herself as they were for Josie. She could not bear to see Solas in the midst of Atish’an, but he was a familiar part of Skyhold, beloved and hated by the empress alike. Whatever it was he had to tell her, he could do it there.

Crying, on a beautiful day like this. Of course Solas was once again the cause of her tears. She had little else to cry over in the past three years. Every other problem she had, she had been able to fix, even the impossible ones. But not this. She could not mend her own heart, so she had tried her best to forget him in the arms of others. It was easier when she reminded herself that she did not need him. Perhaps she would remind herself of that later that night.

He had already taken her virginity, and her heart, so long ago. She had nothing left of herself, of what she had so closely guarded all her life from those inferior souls who unsuccessfully courted the beautiful dirthenera, until she met him. She had nothing left to lose, after she lost him. She sealed her heart away, hardening as she took to the arms of those she favored without any depth of emotion.

She had thoughtlessly and insatiably taken so many lovers since he left, wild combinations of her closest friends and favored courtiers that left her passionate memories of Solas’s affections carefully repressed until they were triggered yet again. She paid little regard for her own dwindling reputation among the gossips, but she allowed so few to really come close to her now. Her heart was still too sore to truly love again, though she loved her large inner circle of friends equally and dearly.

Cullen managed to come the closest to her, soon after Solas left. Their flirtations turned into exciting trysts on his desk until she realized the depth of his feelings for her that she would never be able to fully return, though she had come to care deeply for him in his painful lyrium addiction that he understood all too well, and they mutually parted ways. Since then, she had been careful not to lead anyone too far in her seductions, save for Briala, whose own heart still belonged to Celene. She loved Briala dearly as a friend, such a whip-smart, beautiful elven bard, and enjoyed their trysts, but could not bring herself to declare their relationship beyond a loving friendship.

She took the secret tunnel from her chambers down to the Arcanum, where Dagna was leading a seminar on the principles of rune-crafting. She silently and furtively passed by the deeply focused students, entering through another tunnel, angled deep into the ground. Sulahn’nehn placed a star-shaped shard of lyrium in a great, ancient stone door and it swung open with a click, a complex mechanism she had modified from her studies of the Temple of Solasan’s great architecture.

The heavy doors quickly closed behind her as she entered the dark, private chamber. It was large and circular, with a small raised podium in the center; hundreds of carts filled to the brim with red lyrium surrounded the podium in long lines, like tree rings. An array of enchanting equipment lay tucked snugly against the walls of the room, her careful excuse for her frequent visits to the secret chamber. Sulahn’nehn walked to the podium confidently as she had hundreds of times before, her staff raised to slowly energize and focus as she settled into place.

She focused her will heavily on the light that emitted from the staff, building its power into a central point before relaxing and allowing the light to burst from the center out into a bevy of radiant sparks. Each point hit a cart and set its entire contents aglow. She stood frozen in her focus, channeling her energy into her staff as its blinding light emanated out from her; the red of the lyrium began to pulsate and change in its frequency of light, becoming purple, then blue, with the blue growing ever brighter and softening until it shone pure white. In minutes, the room of red lyrium became a room of priceless, purified white lyrium.

Her most important work for the day done, Sulahn’nehn stretched and made her way back through the secret tunnels towards her chambers. She carefully shed her rigid outer formal gown, leaving her negligible red slip, and snuggled into a cape of fennec fur, far more comfortable than her courtly garb. She missed her old pet Mien’Harel more than anything that day; her fennec had been her best source of comfort after Solas left, though she strongly suspected in the circumstances of the fennec’s disappearance that it did not leave her at all. The soft, fluffy cape would have to do.

She made her way unchaperoned to one of the many taverns in Atish’an, smiling and bowing graciously at those she passed along the way. Even a minor Orlesian duke would not dare to walk around a city without guards, but Sulahn’nehn felt safe here, in her own city, where all knew and loved her and lived in equally decadent peace. Not that she had ever truly felt afraid when alone, as a fire mage, even in her priestly travels to Denerim and Kirkwall.

The Dragon’s Maw was popular with the mercenary companies that had popped up in Atish’an. She knew she would find friendship and comfort here, though she often preferred the bard’s tavern, the Lute and Fiddle, where everyone knew the songs and performed for each other to her great delight. She swung open the door to a loud drunken chorus of “Your Majesty! Have one on me!” as the Bull’s Chargers gleefully surrounded her in greeting, brandishing libations at her while the hulking Iron Bull clapped her back in a forceful, brotherly way, leaving her winded but happy in the company of her friends.

An hour later, she was entirely drunk on Charger-gifted conscription ale. While the many mercenaries played a loud game of darts on the wall, Sulahn’nehn slumped on the bar in between Bull and Krem, laughing as they shared stories of dragons and battles. She had come to the right tavern; no place in Atish’an posed a more jovial distraction from the emotional wound Solas had freshly reopened with his abrupt and unwanted return. She leaned heavily against Krem, stroking his thigh, growing ever more flirtatious in her inebriation; eventually, she fell off her stool, to the raucous amusement of her companions.

Thankfully, the other mercenaries in the tavern were too distracted by their drunken game to seemingly notice. The handsome Tevinter laughingly pulled her up into his lap as she leaned into his arms and turned her head to Bull. “Solas came back,” she slurred, her voice somber. “I don’t know what to do. I hate him. I don’t want him back.” She nuzzled wantonly into Krem’s bound chest as the two mercenaries smirked at each other in calculation. She looked up at Bull, remembering what had brought her to the Dragon’s Maw. “Will you take me home?” she slurred at the Qunari seductively, biting her lip.

The next few hours went by in a drunken, pleasurable blur; Bull and Krem sneakily carried her back to her chambers under the cover of the darkness that now fell, where the two of them attended to the task of distracting Sulahn’nehn fully from her unwanted emotions. Krem restrained her wrists and caressed and kissed her tenderly while she rode the Bull. Her friends left her in her bed, satiated and relaxed, and returned to their own quarters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually considering doing a series of one-shots of all the people Sulahn'nehn fucks before Solas comes back because she has no limits whatsoever. He took her virginity when she was 26, and she had held on to it so preciously all her life she thinks she has nothing left to lose. She locks away her heart and opens her legs to try to forget him. It would almost be hilarious if it wasn't so tragic. That doesn't mean I can't get some great smutty comedy out of it ;)
> 
> Comment if you want to see that, because I might even take requests into account...


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sulahn'nehn dreams of a mysterious wolf, and in her anguish tells him all about her heartbreak. She asks him to cure her... and he reveals himself. Fen'Harel finally tells her the truth, and together they go through the Eluvians to the Fade to free the city of Arlathan from its locked slumber.
> 
> NSFW Chapter: Lavellan X Solas (Fen'Harel)

That night, as she dreamed again of her quiet Fade-world that was so similar now to her real surroundings, her naked, sun-soaked meditative solitude was interrupted by a massive white wolf that padded towards her sorrowfully. Her drunkenness must have let her guard slip as she dreamed. She was momentarily embarrassed for her nakedness, in her sunbathing state, but she could do little to fix it now. She had done her best to prevent any others from entering her private world, especially Solas, adept Dreamer mage that he still was. But this wolf was familiar, so like the statues she had grown up around.

The god she had come to admire most of the ancient pantheon her people revered stood before her, the cunning trickster god who the Dalish elves long reviled in their mistaken belief that he had caused the fall of their gods and empire through his great betrayal, something the Temple of Mythal had taught her was untrue. She had come to revere him as a god of rebellion, a god of freedom, the patron god of her free empire.

Like Briala, she was one of the very few who worshipped at his alcove in the Pantheon, though she attended the temple rarely in her diminished devotion. In spite of her lifetime of priesthood in service to Sylaise, she no longer worshipped the goddess at all. Her vallaslin had long guilted her as she dropped the Vir’Atish’an, Sylaise’s pacifist path, almost as soon as she became the Herald of Andraste and was forced into the throes of battle. She was sick of being a dirthenera, now that she was free of her Dalish role’s bounds, and scornfully judged the goddess’s choice of forcing her followers to sing endlessly in her service, such a tiring display.

The only other god she attended to was Toth, the old god of fire, who she had long secretly revered through her own long-established love of the flame’s blessed and mighty heat and light. She learned of the old god in Circle tomes as she travelled the empire at her Keeper’s command in her early adulthood, already jaded in her early life and many punishments as a dirthenera and sick of her own endlessly singing duties, curious for change now that she had the rare opportunity to travel and see new things. She never mentioned her secret worship of the god, revered by the Tevinter as well as the ancients long before them, to anyone but Solas. As empress, none could dissuade her from her free expression of worship, even her endlessly complaining Council, and she extended that complacency and privilege to her citizens with grace. She no longer cared about her mother’s complaints; she would only find something else to complain about.

“Fen’Harel? Interesting,” said the elven empress, bowing deeply to the god she most admired of her pantheon. “It is a pleasure to meet you, hahren.” She had yet to encounter Mythal in her dreams as her people now claimed to do so often, but here was yet another dormant member of the ancient elven pantheon, interrupting an elf in her dreaming state. What did they want from the elves? Why now?

“I am curious as to why your kind have decided to attend to us now. Our people have suffered slavery, abject poverty, and diminished lifespans in your slumber. Our culture flounders. We are becoming increasingly infertile, and our numbers dwindle. We have needed your help for thousands of years,” she said passionately, presumptively admonishing the ancient god with her words.

The wolf did not speak, but simply stared at her, a seemingly sorrowful expression in its six great eyes. She sighed; these beings loved to make things difficult. “If you will not speak, my lord, why do you disturb my dreams?” she asked. She had no time for reticence, even in her sleep. This wolf was beginning to remind her of Solas.

She entreated to him. Perhaps flattery would appease the god into response. “I have heard great tales of your cunning exploits from one who was once dear to me, my lord. I admire your wisdom. I worship at your altar, and I have dedicated my empire to your memory. I would be honored to help you in your needs, if you will only explain them.” The wolf simply sat and stared at her, looking around at the great model she had built of her palace hesitantly.

She sighed and turned to her waterfall. Even that memory had been tainted. As she gazed at the ephemeral rainbow created by the cascade, she remembered his loving embrace, his passionate, searching kisses in the warm water as they made love in these gentle falls in the Fade so many times. She closed her eyes in pain. Perhaps this ancient, wise being could help her. He was the god of freedom. He could free her from Solas once and for all.

“Hahren, I have a humble request for from you, in return for any assistance I offer,” she sighed, her eyes still closed tightly as she sat with her back to the great wolf. “I once loved a man. I gave him everything I had, even my carefully guarded virginity, and he walked away from me without explanation like it meant nothing.” She spoke freely with her back to the divine being, a creature so far removed from the trappings of the real world that burdened her.

“He has returned, and I am at a loss. I love him so much, still, but I hate him just as much for the pain he caused me. The fluctuation of feeling is driving me to wanton madness. I am compelled to hunt anyone who catches my eye to forget the memory of his kiss, and it is never the same. No-one is the same. I cannot bear my burdens regally as my post commands as long as he weighs on my every thought and memory.”

She turned to Fen’Harel sadly as she continued softly, begging him to acquiesce with her eyes. “My heart is eternally bound to him, and I cannot unlock it even in his return. I cannot forgive him, for I know he will never tell me the truth. I wish to erase his memory from my mind, so I can be free of him at last. Will you help me forget, hahren? Lord of freedom, will you help me be free?” Her eyes welled heavily with tears, her vision clearing as they rolled freely down her cheeks, and she was surprised to note that the wolf’s many eyes were also glistening,

Did he sympathize with her plight? Her eyes widened in hope as as Fen’Harel approached her with its enormous head bowed. She closed her eyes and awaited the ancient god’s blessing. It would make things so much easier. She could go to Skyhold tomorrow, finally free of her pernicious love for the bald elf, and attend to his problem, whatever it was that finally brought him to Atish’an, with a clear mind.

The great white wolf licked her forehead and nuzzled her; she embraced the comforting god, burying her head in its warm fur as she sobbed into its great, soft, fuzzy chest, eyes shut tight. This was even better than her fennec. She appreciated the fluffiness of this god; he was certainly much more pleasant in form than Mythal’s dragon.

Its form shifted in her arms, becoming smaller, smoother, the touch of a man. A strangely familiar embrace. She opened her eyes and jerked her head back in panic at the sight of Solas, in the same shoddy garb he always wore with his wolf jaw necklace proudly hung on his chest, gazing down at her with tears running down his cheeks.

“What kind of trick is this?” she hissed at him, stepping back. He had wormed his way through her defenses into her dreams once again. Why did he choose to fool her first? How had he affected the form of the great wolf? She felt sick to her stomach at the thought of what she had just told him, betraying herself wholly in her foolish, mistaken belief that he was one of the sleeping gods. Of course the goddess Mythal, in her spirit-trapped freedom to walk the world, was truly the only one who could come to them.

“Vhenan,” he said softly, his grey-blue eyes glistening. “I am Fen’Harel.” She shook her head in disbelief, stepping back further from her deceitful betrayer as he stood sorrowfully. “You took the spirit of a god into you, like Flemeth did to Mythal?” she demanded. Perhaps this was the reason he disappeared for so long. He shook his head. “No. I have always been Fen’Harel. Solas is the aspect and name I took on in grief as I awoke from my long slumber, to mark my shameful pride.”

All this time together, and she had not even known his name, not known who he was. All along, she had been loved by a god. No wonder he was so reluctant to take her in the real world. “You even lied about your name. Is there anything you haven’t lied to me about, betrayer?” she snarled at him, her voice rising in anger. His eyes widened in anguish.

“I did not lie when I said I loved you, ma vhenan. Ar lath ma. You have my heart forever,” he said insistently, stepping towards her with his hands raised to touch her. She did not step back, but when he tried to embrace her, she lashed out, hitting his chest uselessly with both of her small fists with each word. “Stupid egghead, lying, leaving, deserting, deceitful, two-faced, I hate you!” she bawled callowly, turning away from him to end her shamefully violent but honest outburst, still sobbing passionately. She did hate him for leaving, and for lying, as much as she deeply and passionately loved him, and he was an egghead, though he was far from stupid. He simply sighed at her childishness, and continued.

“And.. I did not lie about the orb Corypheus carried, which gave you the mark you still hold. It was of ancient elven origin, as I said. But I did not tell you that it was mine.”

She turned to face him again sharply, giving a harsh glare at her deceitful former lover, her crying quelled by the shock of his words. His orb? The pieces of the puzzle began to come together in her mind, her intense epiphany of thought quickly replacing her anguish. It made so much sense now.

She had always suspiciously wondered at his impossibly great understanding of the Fade and the ancient elven kingdom’s lost history, his Dreamer abilities that had been thought lost for millennia, his impossibly great knowledge about Corypheus and the orb he carried. He had always deflected awkwardly when questioned about the source of his knowledge. She began to understand why, though she still burned in anger at his refusal to ever tell her the truth, lying through his teeth, when they had grown so close.

He had been unusually and deeply upset when the orb broke, holding its shattered stone fragments gingerly in his hands like a priceless, damaged jewel as he gazed at it in abject sorrow. He disappeared without explanation or farewell the moment it was broken, something she had never considered in her desperate desire to understand his abrupt and reluctant rejection of her affections. And now he had admitted that he had been the cause of her every burden since they had met.

“Do you mean to tell me that the explosion at the Conclave, the Breach, and everything I have been through in the past four years was your fault? How did Corypheus come by your orb? What is it? What is my mark? Tell me the truth, before I cast you from my mind forever.” She crossed her arms angrily as she demanded honest answers from him, once and for all.

He bowed his head in shame. “Yes. Corypheus took the orb from me while I slept in uthenera. I was powerless to stop him, or to reclaim the orb once he activated it, for you acquired the key I was meant to hold,” he said softly, staring at the lush ground to avoid her harsh glare. “The orb is a focus, as I said. I focused the entirety of my power into it to seal the gods away in the Eluvians, fragmented and asleep, to end their war. As I slept, the orb retained my magic, and Corypheus used it to open the Breach to his own ends. The mark you hold is the key to the final Eluvian, and that is why I need your help, vhenan.”

She raised her left hand to look at the mark, which had now faded into a small glowing circle in her palm. She had paid little attention to it since she sealed the last rifts. Her influence and power now lay far beyond the mere Herald of Andraste, the title that had launched her path to glory. “But the orb is broken. How will you open the Eluvian without your power?”

He began to pace as he debated whether to tell her the truth. Finally, he stopped to face her, determined.

“Mythal and I share the same goal. We wish to see Arlathan restored. After my orb broke, I sought her and took her power, and I have spent these years quelling her spirit to regain my will and use her power to my own ends, as I searched the Crossroads to find the correct path and open the locked Eluvians towards the one where I hid my people so long ago. I did not leave to hurt you, vhenan. I returned to Skyhold as soon as I found the correct path. When you come to Skyhold to help me, we will use the Eluvians quickly to open the locked Eluvian to the Golden City, and use Mythal’s power to return it to Thedas. I will be your guide, if you will have me once again, ma vhenan.”

She raised an eyebrow. “When I help you? That’s awfully presumptuous, Sola—Fen’Harel.” She corrected herself quickly, still adjusting to his new name. It was odd to refer to her former lover by the name of a god, but a god he was, and she would have to deal with it. “The Golden City is blackened and blighted, Corypheus said as much. You intend to bring a blighted city to Thedas? What will you do if that blight spreads?”

He shifted uncomfortably as he stood, looking away. “That is a matter for another time, after we restore what was lost.”

It would be lovely to have Arlathan back, and the wisdom of the ancient elves; that was certain. Atish’an was but a poor facsimile of the fabled glories of Arlathan, magical as the new white lyrium that embellished its great buildings was to behold. And Sulahn’nehn now knew how to cure the Blight, though she had never attempted it on the scale of a city. But… Mythal was inside him? It would be strange to accompany such a dual-natured creature, even if she kept her distance.

“But what will you do with Mythal’s spirit? Can she be restored to her body, or will she remain in you forever?”

He smiled. “The great lady already has a plan. After Arlathan is restored, she will imbue her divine spirit and celestial aspect into the bound soul of the lady Morrigan, if she is willing.” Sulahn’nehn sighed in relief. Though Morrigan had long flouted her mother’s name, the call of the Well was impossible for her to resist, and Sulahn’nehn knew that the witch had come to revere the true nature of her mother over the recent years as she remained in Skyhold to guard the Eluvian. Surely she would be more than amenable to the solution, given the powers it would grant her.

“Perhaps I will help you, then,” she said softly, cocking her head in fascination at her former lover, understanding why he always wore that peculiar, ancient looking wolf jaw. He looked the same as he ever did, but she knew him as so much more now. Perhaps his great, fluffy wolf form had been lost to him until his power was restored.

His explanation slowly placated her bitter heart. Finally, he had told her the truth, wholly, without misdirection or half-truths. It was all she had ever asked of him. She suspected he had meant to tell her before, when he took her vallaslin. Perhaps she could forgive him, now. The burdens he had spoken of when he left indeed proved to be greater than her own; she could not deny that the burdens of the gods outweighed those of a mortal empress.

He beamed down at her, his smooth skin crinkling around his smiling steely grey eyes as he approached to embrace her again. She did not resist, this time. It had been so easy to forgive him once he told her the truth. She pulled him close and breathed in his familiar scent as she nuzzled his slender chest. He lifted her chin and kissed her, an intense kiss that reminded her of a hundred kisses before, so passionate and loving, his tongue roughly caressing her own as though it were the last time they would touch.

She threw her arms around his neck wantonly, giving in to the desires that had burdened her for years as she finally kissed him back, breaking away to roughly kiss every inch of his sweet face before she returned hungrily to the softness of his loving lips. He pulled away from her to her despair, holding her at a reluctant distance as he smiled at her. “I will see you soon, ma vhenan. It is time that you wake up.”

Sulahn’nehn awoke to a hilarious mess and the wide-eyed amazement of her handmaid Leranni, who stood helplessly in the center of a storm of debris. The many delicate sheets and cushions of her great bed, along with her gown and cape, had all been torn away and thrown across the room, knocking over the contents of her vanity and most of the tables in her room. One sheet was tied to the corners of her bedpost and in the center, indisputably disclosing the indiscreet methods Iron Bull and Krem had used on her the night before. She quickly untied the sheet and threw it on the bed, laughing.

“I’m really sorry about the mess, Leranni. I got a little inebriated last night. I will give you a bonus for your trouble. I would prefer if the other maids did not witness or hear of this, sweetheart. Please have the horse-master prepare my carriage, I will be leaving for Skyhold early today. Thank you for your tireless service.” She bit both her lips in an embarrassed grimace as she quickly walked into her enormous closet to don her powerful white-lyrium-infused dragonbone armor for the coming journey, leaving Leranni to pick up the artistic mess Bull and Krem had graciously created for her in their passions.

The journey was quick. Atish’an was not far from Skyhold, and a great network of well-built roads now connected all the cities of her empire. Sulahn’nehn smiled and waved at the many trading carts and aravels from her massive windows as they passed along the way, conspicuous in her greatly embellished imperial carriage in the midst of a retinue of ornately armored guards.

As they pulled in to Skyhold, Cullen awaited her. Sulahn’nehn was suddenly stricken with guilt. She approached the general cautiously. “General Cullen. I am here to visit Solas on urgent business. I trust all is well in Skyhold?” The general nodded, his expression neutral. The soldiers passed by them towards the barracks as their leaders stood awkwardly.

She could not resist from yet again attempting to atone for her sins. They were alone now, and it was the only chance she would get. “Cullen, I’m so sorry. I want you to know that. I did the same thing to you, after he broke my heart. You deserve so much better.” The general sighed, but smiled at her.

“Sulie, it’s fine. Really. You were good to me. You helped me more than I can say, understood my lyrium addiction more than anyone else. You were there for me through the worst of it. Thanks to you, I’m fine now. And hundreds of templars have followed suit.” The former templar smiled ruefully and shrugged. “You should go back to him. You never looked at me the way you look at him. Even now. Anyway, I’ve moved on. There’s a pretty young mage here I’ve been talking to who’s getting awfully blushy. Don’t worry about me, I’m fine.”

She frowned. “Are you sure?” Her friend and former lover nodded and pulled her into a chaste, friendly hug, kissing her forehead in a brotherly manner and patting her on the back. “Go on inside, Sulie. He’s been waiting for you. He was so confused when he learned how much things have changed, it’s hilarious. I have no idea where he’s been. You should roast that egg for what he did to you.” Sulahn’nehn laughed and nodded at her general, entering her great fortress without trepidation for the first time in years. She had already lashed out at her former love enough for one lifetime in her dream last night.

It was so different now that she was no longer Inquisitor, now that Skyhold was part of her empire and Orlais was united under Alistair and Celene. Orlesian nobles no longer filled the halls; the hustle and bustle of Skyhold was now filled with its many soldiers, equipment merchants and healing mages, a fortress of war streamlined to its real purpose. It was still the safest place in her empire, the powerful stronghold that held an enormous army which granted her the freedom to grow her empire without fear of Tevinter or Qunari aggression. Fen’Harel had given her this place, long ago, a gift she had so recently come to truly understand.

She stepped into his familiar chamber for the first time in years. She had avoided it entirely after he left, allowing Josephine to turn it into a meeting room for her appointments. He had returned it to its original state; a large, plain desk lay in the center, laden with tomes, at which he sat on his great chair, while a chaise and dresser lay against the meticulously painted walls.

He had already finished the mural, to her delight; the formerly sketched out wall, that once barely showed a dragon bowing to a wolf, now displayed in brilliant color a resplendent red-haired empress on her throne, a white star around her shining with light. The final chapter of her journey to power.

“Good morning, Fen’Harel, she murmured to her divine love, emphasizing the true name she had learned only that night. “Are you ready to enter the Eluvian?”

He smiled and rose, walking swiftly over to her to administer a soft kiss and a loving embrace. His staff was already strapped to his back, though he wore his plain garb instead of the armor he had taken with him when he left. “Let us go, ma vhenan. Time is of the essence now,” he said gently. She smiled and took his hand, leading him out towards the room where the great Eluvian lay hidden. She did not hide her affection for him from the court at Skyhold, ignoring the stares as the two elves walked with tightly clasped hands.

As they reached the Eluvian, Fen’Harel easily raised a hand to activate it, gesturing to her to step ahead of him. She jumped through the liquid surface of the mirror to arrive in the Crossroads, its misty grey surroundings gradually coming to vibrant life around her in her presence. Fen’Harel was quick to follow her, closing the Eluvian behind him as he walked urgently ahead. She followed him on his decisive path, hopping through a series of Eluvians to arrive ever again in the Crossroads, until they came to a small, crooked Eluvian that looked different from the others; it was bound with roots, and misshapen.

She peered through the dark surface, and could barely make out the outline of a city. Fen’Harel gestured at the mirror. “This is the first Eluvian that leads to the City. It is locked, like the other. Will you use your key to open it?” She obediently raised her left hand and focused her will into the mark, urging the mirror to open. The smooth surface became liquid and the outline of the city came into sharp view. Fen’Harel turned and smiled at her. “Thank you, ma vhenan. It will not be long now.” He stepped through the small Eluvian, and she followed him quickly.

They were in the raw Fade. She looked at him suspiciously. “You said you had never been here before,” she said apprehensively. He shook his head. “We are not here physically, ma vhenan. We came here through the Eluvians. Our physical bodies lie in between.” He gestured at the city that hovered above them. “That black facsimile is a reflection of an Eluvian that lies beneath it. We must venture directly under the city to find it.”

They walked through the dark, desolate raw Fade together hand in hand, quietly, undisturbed. Finally, they reached their goal; a massive, circular Eluvian lay set into the ground, its smooth surface and the ground around it sorely blackened. Fen’Harel stepped behind her, murmuring into her ear. “We must do this together, my heart. My power, and your key.”

He embraced her passionately from behind, his warm chest pressing against her back. She gasped as a surge of incredible power filled her. He raised her hand for her, his long arm entwining his fingers with hers as he pointed her palm at the Eluvian. His other arm wrapped around her waist tightly. She pressed back against him, her head rolling back onto his chest in ecstasy at the might that filled her body and soul. He was using her as a focus instead of the orb he had lost. His power, as she amplified it through her mark towards the Eluvian, felt so strong, so brilliant, a mighty will that far outweighed her own, but the magic also felt oddly familiar in its bare bones, like the light she created with her spirit sword and staff.

The immense, overwhelming power gradually flowed back from her into Fen’Harel, and Sulahn’nehn gasped as the newly liquid Eluvian began to bubble and boil violently. Slowly, the Eluvian vaporized and disappeared, leaving a black, empty crater in its wake. The city in the sky was gone, as was the mark in her hand. The warmth at her back dissipated as she felt her lover fall behind her.

She turned to see Fen’Harel languishing on the ground, nearly asleep. Was he about to go into uthenera now, right after unleashing a blighted city full of crazy ancient gods on the world? Oh, Fen’Harel. Fenedhis lasa. This wasn’t the first time he had pulled such a stunt. Sulahn’nehn shook him by the shoulders, exasperated. “Wake up! Fen’Harel, wake up! Please! You can’t sleep now! I need you!” she cried out desperately, her voice echoing in the great crater as the bald elf struggled to open his eyes.

She could not let him get away from her now. The world needed him to finish the job he had started. She pulled him into her arms as she kneeled and forcefully kissed him, opening his mouth and focusing all of her willpower into his body to awaken him. Whatever it took. She began to tug at his leggings, freeing his great manhood. Perhaps this would wake him up; it had worked on him in her morning-lit chambers so long ago. She stroked his member gently as she kissed him, desperate for him to awaken. To her relief, he slowly opened his eyes with a shocked expression, looking down at her busy hand with a sly smile. He had already begun to stiffen.

“Thank you, vhenan. No one has ever been able to pull me away from uthenera before. I had not thought it possible,” he whispered weakly. He pushed her head down to kiss her deeply and pulled her roughly on top of him, rolling her over until she lay under him, his weight pressing down on her as he quickly pulled away her armor, leaving her half-naked in his arms. She opened her legs to him willingly, her arms relaxing around his broad shoulders, and beamed with joy as he slowly pushed into her, his smooth fingers running circles around her stiffened nipples as he caressed her breasts. She had imagined this for so long, the ardent but painful memories filling her every time she entered a location where they had once shared their affections. She pulled him down close and panted against his ear, whispering in an urgent staccato to go harder, as he happily obliged.

He smiled back at her obvious pleasure, freely giving in to his own ardent passions as he worked against her, biting at her shoulders with increasing fervor as he held her roughly by the neck with one hand. She gasped and moaned under him, the gentle pain of his fervent, animalistic roughness only increasing the intensity of the pleasure she felt. He finished inside her as he kissed her deeply, searching her mouth with his soft tongue, and she pulled him as close as she could muster. He was hers again. She had always been his, as much as she had tried to repress the truth over the years.

He clasped her face lovingly and gave her one last, forceful kiss before he stood, adjusting himself. Sulahn’nehn strapped on her armor quickly and stood beside him, gazing up at his face in peaceful happiness. This was all she had really wanted, in all her luxuries as empress. His return, and his honesty. She had everything now. He turned to look at her, his eyes crinkling in love. “We must return to the physical world quickly. Arlathan will have returned to its original location in the wild Arlathan Forest, in Tevinter. It is imperative that we find it before anyone else.”

She nodded and followed him as he stalked ahead of her, invigorated, determined and excited. They quickly reached the crooked Eluvian, still open, and stepped through it. They returned through the Crossroads at an alarming pace, Fen’Harel’s steps fleeting ever quicker ahead of hers even as the ground responded to her steps and allowed her to quicken her own pace. Eventually, they tumbled back into Skyhold, and Fen’Harel closed the Eluvian again with a casual wave of his wrist.

“Now, we must find the Lady Morrigan,” he said calmly. Sulahn’nehn suddenly remembered the presence of Mythal’s spirit in Fen’Harel’s body, with whom she had just indirectly but inadvertently made love. She felt strangely dirty, having always considered the goddess a motherly sort, though she had no real reason to abhor her touch, given that she generally preferred the company of women, and even Krem’s unusual circumstances posed no hindrance to her free affections.

“She’s probably in the garden. Let’s find her,” said the empress, turning quickly to the door to hide her expression of unease.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mythal enters the body of Morrigan, now her willing slave thanks to the Well of Sorrows. They wake up the sleeping gods, who turn out to be pretty terrible. Sulahn'nehn demonstrates to Fen'Harel how she can cure the Blight, and he is _ecstatic_.
> 
> NSFW chapter: Lavellan x Fen'Harel

Morrigan was indeed in the garden, reading an ancient elven tome and chuckling to herself. The Well of Sorrows had long since given her the envied ability to read anicient elvhen. Sulahn’nehn skipped over to her friend, smiling, and embraced her. “It’s been a while, Morrigan! How have you been?” asked the empress, who had not visited Skyhold in months. 

“I am well as ever, Your Radiance. I see your friend has returned. To what do I owe this honor?” asked the dark-haired mage, her brusque manner never changing over the years even as they grew closer.

Fen’Harel spoke up. “It would be best if we discuss this matter in private. Shall we return to the Empress’s quarters?” It was, indeed, the only place where they would be neither seen nor heard; mage scholars still filled the library above Fen’Harel’s study, though Leliana in her ascension retired to the Chantry of Val Royeaux and Dorian had long since returned to the Tevinter capital of Minrathous to free slaves and help them smuggle themselves to New Elvhenan.

They quickly ascended the stairs to Sulahn’nehn’s old quarters, exactly the same as they had once been, the evening light streaming through the Dalish windows onto her great Orlesian bed. Morrigan stood in the center of the room, with her arms crossed. “Now will you tell me what great, secret matter brings you here?”

Fen’Harel suddenly looked to the ceiling, his arms splaying out, and burst into light with power. The gleaming, formless spirit of Mythal emerged from his body, leaving him panting and winded. The spirit spoke to her daughter. “My child. It is time. You already know what I ask of you.”

Morrigan stood in shock, her eyes wide. She slowly nodded, and approached the spirit, bending on one knee. The spirit touched her forehead, entering her body, and Morrigan stood with her eyes aglow, Mythal resplendent in a physical form once again.

“I am… me. But I am Mythal. I remember all, and I understand,” she said, calmly, in her old voice. She turned to Fen’Harel, who leaned against Sulahn’nehn’s desk in exhaustion. “My friend. We must return to Arlathan and seek our brethren.” Fen’Harel nodded and looked to his love. “Will you come with us, ma vhenan? It will be quickest if we take the Eluvian network.”

It would likely be a long journey to Tevinter, even if they took Eluvians along the way. She would have to place Briala in charge for a while. Sulahn’nehn nodded and walked towards the stairs. “I will meet you both at the Eluvian. I must speak with my general to prepare for my absence,” she called up to them.

Her duties for the next few days carefully reassigned, she returned to the room that held the Eluvian to find Fen’Harel and Morrigan engaging in pleasant conversation for once. Mythal’s influence seemed to be quite severe. They stepped through one by one and were quickly stymied by reassuringly expected bickering as the two gods argued over which way was most efficient. They eventually followed Fen’Harel through a series of nine Eluvians, arriving at identical looking spots in the Crossroads as they stepped through identical looking Eluvians to Sulahn’nehn’s confusion, finally arriving in a dense, warm forest.

Sulahn’nehn followed the two friends, who seemed to know their way through the dense overgrowth. They arrived at a great clearing, and Sulahn’nehn gasped as Arlathan came into view.

It was glorious, even as the Blight had clearly ravaged its buildings with patches of darkness and red lyrium. It lay in the center of a great lake, a great cascade tumbling down endlessly around it into a magical void, and rose from a dense forest in spires of crystal light. It was all she had ever dreamed of as a Dalish elf. She had once hoped of seeing it when she died. And here it was, physically here, right in front of her eyes, the glories of the ancient elves returned to Thedas once again.

Fen’Harel smiled at her. “It is beautiful, is it not? Come, I will show you the great Temple of Elgar’nan that lays in its center.” She followed her two excited companions over an ornate bridge and into the city, gazing around her with her mouth agape. The sunlight streamed in beams through the trees, and every brick in every road was paved with glowing runes. The same strange tree-like sculptures that lay in the Crossroads adorned the center of the great roads here, and the buildings were gloriously intact in their gilded decorations over the great elven architecture she so loved. The city they walked through was strangely devoid of life.

They came to the great Temple, high above them past a massive staircase. Fen’Harel and Morrigan took up the stairs in a run; Sulahn’nehn followed slowly behind, already tired. They entered the great doors, and Sulahn’nehn frowned.

The interior was ornate, and appropriately Elven in style, but it seemed… wrong. Squatter, less delicate, dark and sinister. It was as though an Elven temple had been built by evil-minded Tevinter magisters. Hundreds of vallaslin-clad ancient elves lay sleeping all around them. Fen’Harel and Mythal carefully walked through them towards the inner chamber; Morrigan turned to stop her from following them further.

“Ir abelas, da’len. You must wait here.” The words seemed so strange from Morrigan. Perhaps this was Mythal talking. “What we must now do is not for you to witness.” Sulahn’nehn protested, but the two gods ignored her, raising their hands to open the doors and enter as the doors swiftly locked behind them.

It seemed like she waited for hours in the ominous, dark chamber, full of heavily breathing sleeping elves. She sat on the ground and closed her eyes in quiet meditation, nearly falling asleep. She shook fully awake with a start to the murmur of voices. Somehow, all these elves awoke, and were now gazing at her, perplexed. She stood up stiffly. “Aneth ara,” she started, but could not continue. She did not know enough conversational Elvhen to address these ancient elves as she required, and they would not speak her common tongue.

She stood awkwardly in silence until the doors blessedly opened and Fen’Harel walked towards her with a worried expression. “Come with me, vhenan,” he said, in a strained voice, gesturing towards the doorway. What had happened now? She shrugged and followed him in.

The interior was dark, lit only by scattered torches. Elves in black and white robes scurried around them, all with Elgar’nan’s vallaslin. They came to another great chamber, where a circle of tall, bald, gorgeously robed elves stood speaking to Morrigan, the first elves here without vallaslin. Nobles, perhaps? Or… the entire blighted Ancient Elven Pantheon? Sulahn’nehn smiled politely, wide-eyed in their fabled presence.

A tall, pale-skinned, red-eyed woman with red veins corrupting her pale face sniffed at her imperiously. Sylaise. “She is much shorter than I expected,” she said in the common tongue, haughtily, in a voice that reminded Sulah’nehn of her hateful mother. 

“And you are much ruder than I expected,” she retorted quickly. She knew she was small even for an elf, and she did not take kindly to jibes about her diminutive height from anyone that did not have bull-shaped horns.

“She is a feisty little one,” smiled another woman with dark skin and hazel eyes, whose face was scarred with black veins and patches of black and glowing red. Ghilan’nain. 

“At least her face is clear. She is no slave, idiot shemlen though she may be” piped up a soft-spoken young man with dark purple eyes; Falon'Din. 

Another elf beside him sniffed at her, and smirked. "She has the smell of all kinds of creatures on her. Surely this wanton fool has no place in our blessed hall." A sharp jibe from Dirthamen, and one that hurt all the more in her previous reverence of the God of Secrets. Sulahn'nehn simply smiled at him, masking her shock of guilt. How could he _tell?_ Could Fen'Harel tell, too? 

The taller elf cackled and sneered. “Tiny child, do you know to whom it is you speak? We have just been told you are illiterate in our great language. Do not prove yourself more ignorant than you already seem,” she laughed nastily. Sulahn’nehn was glad Fen’Harel had the foresight to remove her vallaslin well before introducing her to these nasty elves.

“My sweet lady Sylaise, it is an honor to meet you,” she responded stiffly, disappointed. Sylaise, the goddess she had dedicated most of her life to, was not at all what she expected. Sylaise sniffed and looked away in disdain.

“So this is the puny mortal Empress of Elvhenan, who has taken our people for her own slaves in our stead,” spoke up the eldest of the group, a very tall man with sharply chiseled features and thinly pointed, long ears. Elgar’nan himself, the leader of the ancient Pantheon.

Sulahn’nehn balked at his words without betraying her emotions on her face. Did the gods intend to take her people as their slaves, in their return? The Dalish would surely be susceptible, so devoted to their gods, so easily called upon to their whims. They deserved so much better. Was this the end to which Mythal had gathered them in the Exalted Plains? She could not allow this to happen. She worked too hard for their freedoms. It was her job, now, to protect them from these proud ancient elves.

“New Elvhenan. Emphasis on the new. It is a completely different place from your wonderful land. Quite far away. Rather shabby in comparison. But my people are not slaves, my Lord,” she said pleasantly, bowing her head at the elder god as she spoke. “We have vowed to never submit again to the slavery we suffered for centuries as you slept. My land is small and meager, not worthy of your attention. If it is slaves you require, look to Tevinter. They are the greatest empire and slave market in the land. They possess scores of elven slaves, as well as powerful magisters who deserve to be bound to your will. I will help you, my Lord. If you bring me the materials, I will draw you maps to aid you in your great conquest.”

From the corner of her eye she saw Fen’Harel’s growing, wicked smile as Elgar’nan considered her words and eventually motioned for one of his vallaslin-clad temple slaves to bring her the materials. Sulahn’nehn sat at a small table near a torch as three slaves quickly shuffled towards her and silently proffered an inkwell, an ornate quill and several rolls of parchment.

She set to work quickly to show the gods the changes in their surroundings, already an adept map-maker in her long and arduous studies of geography, elven history and the structural arts as a former Keeper’s First. She focused on Tevinter, filling it with as much detail as she could remember, as well as the lands of Seheron and Par Vollen where the Qunari reigned. She left New Elvhenan out of the map entirely. They did not need to know where it was, if they intended to make her people their slaves. She would try to lead these warring gods as far from her sweet and gentle baby empire as she could.

Her first map finished, she drew from her knowledge of history to create a second, a map of the world as the elven gods knew it in the time of the fall of Arlathan, two thousand years ago. Two thousand years… She chuckled to herself at the thought of how much older her love truly was. It took her much longer than the first map; she sucked on the end of her quill absently as she debated stories of earthquakes and floods to figure out the landscape that would have existed back then, again focusing on the northern part of Thedas as she knew it best.

She stood and fade-stepped to Elgar’nan with a flourish, bowing as she presented the two maps. He unrolled the first, and Morrigan took the second, now standing close at his side. Mythal had been Elgar’nan’s partner, once, as the tales told. Sulahn’nehn wondered how much of Morrigan was left; perhaps it was time to come to terms with the loss of her friend’s unique self.

She began to explain the differences between the two maps to Elgar’nan and Mythal, providing gentle tactical suggestions that kept her allies out of harm’s way. Since the Arlathan Forest already lay in Tevinter, it was easy enough to direct them to nearby capitals of the slave trade, especially Minrathous, and she already knew where the armies of Orlais and Nevarra fought the slaver lords alongside her own reinforcements. To her relief, the gods did not seem to notice the cunning in her misdirection; they nodded along to her advice, never expecting one so diminutive to try to mislead them.

“I wouldn’t trust the child. Our little wolf is far too happy about this for my liking,” piped up a harsh voice from the corner. A deeply tanned bald woman with vivid green eyes stood leaning against the wall, her arms crossed in suspicion, red lyrium crystals growing out of her entire face and body in a manner that made her look an awful lot like Corypheus. The wall and floor around her were blackened by her presence. This must be Andruil, Sulahn’nehn thought to herself, making a mental note to avoid ever touching the severely blighted goddess.

“I am a humble, lifelong servant of the Elven Pantheon,” said the young elf earnestly to the gathered gods. “I do not possess the will to mislead my great elders. I am here to help you regain your glory. Invading Tevinter is the best way to do it. They have looted much from your people, and it is time for you to take it back.” It was not entirely a lie.

Sulahn’nehn felt guilty now for the innocent slaves of Tevinter, elves and humans alike. So many of them had already begun to cross her borders under cover. She had to write to Dorian, as soon as she returned, and compel him to double his efforts in urgency, and evacuate as many slaves and commoners from the cities of Tevinter as possible before the ancient elves brought their wrath upon the world. She would send him reinforcements in aid. The magisters could burn, for all she cared, but the slaves and commoners had done nothing to deserve further slavery, and these gods were clearly terrible people. Fen’Harel had been right to speak so ill of them in his tales.

The elder gods conferred among themselves for a moment, swayed by Andruil’s barbs of distrust. Finally, Elgar’nan turned to face her. “Return to your minor holdings, and send us your troops. We will reward your diligence in kind. We turn to Tevinter, our old enemy, to crush the pitiful shemlen once and for all.”

Sulahn’nehn nodded and bowed, a smile fixed on her face even as she worried internally at the god’s wrathful words. This would not be an easy transition for the world. She wondered if the gods would stop at Tevinter in their greed. Fen’Harel nodded at his brethren, who gazed at him disdainfully, and exited the room with Sulahn’nehn in tow. Mythal stayed behind, at Elgar’nan’s side. The empress and her god-lover walked quickly and silently together past the wide-eyed temple slaves to the entrance, where the sunlight streamed in, quickly descending the steps.

When they came back to the street, which now began to fill with sleepy-looking elves of all sorts, he stopped and turned to her. “That was an impressive show, ma vhenan. I find your cunning most commendable. Perhaps your people will retain their freedom after all. I confess, that had worried me.” She blushed at his words; Fen’Harel, of all people, admired her cunning? “That means a lot, coming from you, my sweet wolf god,” she said softly, smiling as she leaned in to kiss him gently. He caressed her rear and kissed her forehead tenderly before motioning to her to continue through the bridge to the forest.

They quickly retraced their steps through the crossroads and tumbled again into Skyhold, Sulahn’nehn quickly standing and pacing the room.

“I can’t believe they want to enslave us all. This is worse than the Blight. I can cure the Blight. I can’t cure assholes.”

“Can you?” asked Fen’Harel, an eyebrow raised. “The Blight is incurable, to my knowledge.” She smiled at him. He had missed so much in his absence. “Come with me, ma lath. I have something to show you,” she said smugly, walking out of the room towards the vault where assorted lyrium was held as Fen’Harel followed her, perplexed.

She placed a shard of red lyrium on the table and bade the guards to leave the room. “Observe,” she said calmly, raising her staff to focus a beam of light at the shard. It quickly glowed, and turned into pure blue lyrium. “My pet fennec turned out to be the constellation Judex, the Sword of Judgement. It gifted me its power and disappeared, while you were gone. The light of Judex can cure the Blight, and it has tasked me to do so,” she said casually. “Observe again.” She focused another, sharper beam at the blue lyrium; Fen’Harel’s eyes widened as it melted and slowly brightened until it glowed evenly throughout, a perfect shard of white lyrium, worth about five hundred thousand gold on the standard market.

“I had wondered what… Vhenan, do you understand what this means?” he asked her, his voice incredulous, his eyes still wide in the soft white glow of the shard. She smiled and walked towards him, leaning her hips against his as she pulled him towards her. “Yes. I can cure your people. I can heal Arlathan. It will take time, but I can do it.” She looked up at him earnestly as he shook his head at her.

“That is not what I meant. You have been blessed with the aspect of a constellation. That is how we came by our greater powers, my brethren and I, that raised us above other ancient elves. Do you understand? You are my equal, vhenan. You are immortal.”

She blinked in surprise at his words. She had not felt any different after she ate the fennec’s strange fruit, though her magic had indeed changed, and she was now immune to lyrium’s song like a dwarf. But to be immortal? She had planned her whole life’s work around the trappings of mortality. It was a gift, indeed, one that would allow her to keep her empire running forever. Something that also seemed like an awfully great burden, now that she considered it.

And to be his equal, as a god? She had truly never aspired to godhood. She told Corypheus as much, and meant it. A mortal life had been enough for her, rushed as she always was for time. And now time itself was a luxury for her, though she had not realized it, still young as she was. But that did not mean her people had the same luxury; she had to work as tirelessly as before if she wanted to continue to govern effectively.

She was already accustomed to the power that apparently marked her as an actual goddess, and it felt no different to her than her usual mage’s magic. What would her myth become, in time? Sulahn’nehn, goddess of… what? Licentiousness, cackled her cruel inner monologue, which she quickly quelled. She had no need to seek distraction in the arms of her favored friends again as long as he was back in her life.

She bowed her head in thought quietly until Fen’Harel raised her chin to look her in the eye. “Do not be afraid, ma vhenan. The path is long, but I will be ever by your side.” For actual eternity… Sulahn’nehn laughed at the cheesy folly of it as she threw her arms around him again, the better to kiss the great love of her life. They kissed passionately for a long time in the quiet of the vault, tightly embracing each other in the mutual revelation of her true nature.

She smiled to herself, thinking of the haughty gods who had treated her so poorly earlier that day. “It would be best if the other elven gods do not find out about me, yet,” she smirked at Fen’Harel. He shook his head at her gravely. “If they come to Atish’an, they will know immediately, with the white lyrium you have placed all over the city. You must keep them at bay.”

She nodded. It would be easy enough, with the gods distracted in Tevinter, but she would have to return to Atish’an in order to keep it safe. “Will you come back to Atish’an tomorrow with me, ma lath? Will you live with me at court?” she purred, finally acquiescing to him fully. She could bring him back there again, now that he had healed her hurt spirit with the truth.

She could show him the beautiful buildings she designed herself, the great university that he would surely adore in his love of wisdom and scholarly pursuits, the freedoms her people enjoyed that Fen’Harel of all the gods would truly appreciate the most. He nodded slowly and seriously, gazing deeply into her eyes, and kissed her again as though he had never kissed her before. He began to lead her through the door, up to her private quarters.

They had shed each other’s clothes before they even made it all the way up the stairs to her bedroom. Fen’Harel pushed her urgently to the floor, the cool stone pressing against her back as he straddled her, kissing her passionately and grinding his hips against her increasingly wet groin. He pleasured her with his fingers, sucking and breathing on her earlobes the way he knew she liked it as she moaned and gyrated against him, finally guiding himself into her ever so slowly, savoring every moment as he closed his eyes and breathed heavily against her sensitive, pointed, quivering ear. He filled her completely like a glove, so perfect, and began to pound steadily, the roughness bringing her to a writhing, gasping climax as he grinned and watched her lose herself to him.

He stood and lifted her in his arms, tossing her on the bed nimbly as she giggled. He turned her over, lifting her hips high as he left soft wet kisses slowly up her back. He entered her from behind, just as slowly as before, building again to a steady roughness, scratching her back and hips as he gyrated against her in a frenzy. He pulled himself in to her thoughtlessly, panting until he let out a great moan, holding her tightly as he sucked and bit her ear with abandon.

They toppled sideways as she turned her head and kissed him back, still joined, now simply basking in the aftermath of their passion on the soft silk of her huge bed. He pulled away from her, and sat up, gazing in admiration at her small, curvy body in a way that made her smile with pride.

“I shouldn’t have… It is no matter. I will accept whatever comes,” said Fen’Harel softly. Sulahn’nehn understood. “What would… happen, if we had a child?” she timidly asked. “Would it be.. um, a god? Or something else, something weird?” He shook his head, to her relief. “Our blessed progeny would be immortal, and elven, as we both are, and likely quite lauded by your empire, but not bound to any celestial power. That is a process one must come by alone through great wisdom.”

Sulahn’nehn nodded lazily, pulling her love back towards her to relax in his arms. “For what it’s worth, I’ve been rather… thoughtlessly active with our friends since you left, and nothing has come of it. I suspect I am less fertile than most. It is common, for the Dalish.” She shrugged, indeed too busy to bear children just yet, an empress who considered her people her personal wards.

Infertility was already a dreadful plight for most Dalish elves, part of the reason for their dwindling numbers as a result of centuries of clan inbreeding, but Sulahn’nehn had secretly hoped she had escaped that trait, given her mother’s rare multiple children. But she recalled, too, the many siblings that almost were, as her mother struggled to give her more brothers and sisters until her kind but stoic father was killed fighting darkspawn in the Blight. It had been tragic to witness her mother’s inconsolable grief as it hardened her heart.

She sighed into Fen’Harel’s smooth, bare, muscular chest as he stroked her long, unbound hair. She was so happy now, happier than she had ever thought she could be again. She quickly drifted to sleep in his loving arms, and found him waiting for her in her Fade world.

She joyously ran to his arms, kissing him again, as though they had not just spent the entire day together, all memory of the pain that wrecked her for years forgotten in her forgiveness. He held her tightly, his serious grey eyes sparkling in happiness, nuzzling her nose with his own. “Vhenan, would you like to see my home, now that it is restored?” he asked her, his gentle voice bristling with hope, an entirely unnecessary question. Of course she did. She grinned up at him and nodded excitedly. He held her face in both hands and kissed her deeply as she felt their surroundings change.

She looked up in wonder with her mouth agape at the great tower they now stood within. It was the most beautifully made building she had ever seen, a series of delicate, high arched windows rising alongside a rune-set spiral staircase towards his tall fur-laden bed, in a style reminiscent of the ruined elven Coliseums near Atish’an, the former haunt of dragons where the elven games of sport had begun anew. But it was more refined than the Coliseums, the pale stonework inlaid with delicate streams of ivory and gold, rising into a delicate starlike point high above where they all intersected. The many arched windows gave way to the warm light outside, which streamed into the room in a glorious intersecting cascade of bright ribbons to light their vision.

“I built it all myself,” he murmured into her ear, a fact that made her squeal with delight and turn to him to bless his brilliant creativity and craftsmanship with another kiss. He was so amazing, so perfect for her, in ways no one else had ever been or could ever be. No others had ever compared to him, the main reason for her distress in his disappearance. No friend of hers in all of Thedas was so brilliant, so kind, so wise. No arms could replace the intense passion of his embrace.

She looked around her at the great main room; gorgeous frescoes of Arlathan and its forests covered its smooth round walls, a masterpiece that well out-rivaled the incredible mural Fen’Harel had created for her in Skyhold. She marveled at his exquisitely precise line work, walking over with an appreciative gasp and examining it closely.

A great desk sat in the center of the room laden with tomes, artifacts and parchments, made of ebony, with a massive, plush chair beside it. The corners and legs of the set were adorned with sculpted figures of wolves, and a large matching cabinet sat to the side. The layout of the room’s furniture was familiar, oddly similar to his round room in Skyhold, though far larger. But there was one great difference. Proudly rising above a hearth sat a massive bookcase, its shelves proudly blocking the fresco as thousands and thousands of priceless tomes she longed to read spanned the entire height of the wall. She wondered how he managed to reach them, until she reminded herself of his powerful magic.

She walked towards his great private library in wonder. “This is incredible, ma lath. There is so much knowledge here,” she sighed in desire. “I adore your home. Everything here is so much greater than anything in Atish’an.” She stood at the hearth, warming herself in the fires she had always loved as she gazed up at his books, unable to read the ancient inscriptions on their spines even in her continued studies. He approached her quietly, embracing her slender back as he kissed her neck.

“This can all be yours, ma vhenan. At your word, I will have your soldiers bring my tomes back to Atish’an for your perusal. I can build again. I long to share the lost glories of our people with you.” She leaned into him, still staring into the fire, smiling brightly as she pulled him closer behind her with her short arms and imagined what the future would bring. He had already blessed her with so much.

She could never have closed the Breach without him. He gave her Skyhold, so mysteriously, the fortress that allowed her to grow her great army and come into her own. He gave her the divine mark that allowed her to presume to rule over her own people, the mark that allowed her empire to be born. She turned her head and kissed the cleft of his chin softly, turning back to the familiar flames as she spoke. “Thank you for everything, ma lath. I know you have helped me more than you will admit.” He said nothing, and simply held her as they basked together in the warm glow.

Eventually, he stepped in front of her, smiling slyly. “Come with me, vhenan,” he said in a voice darkened with lust, scooping her deftly into his strong arms and cradling her high as she held his broad shoulders tightly to steady herself and kissed him passionately. He carried her up the glowing rune-laden stairs and placed her reverently on his great four-poster bed, its tall dark columns shaped like howling wolves, soft pelts covering its tall surface as a lush green mural of a forest floor surrounded them.

He took her again for the third time that day, insatiable in his passion, rougher than ever as he lifted her legs high above his shoulders. They eventually lay gently entwined in the furs of his bed, Fen’Harel quietly thinking to himself as Sulahn’nehn caressed his smooth, pale muscles with a single finger. He smiled fondly at her. “It has been so long since I shared this bed with anyone. Indeed, since I shared myself with anyone. I am so glad for your forgiveness, my dear heart. Ar lath ma, vhenan.”

She smiled at him sweetly and snuggled in closer. “I love you, too. So much, Fen’lath,” she whispered as she pressed her face into his slender chest. Amid the obstinately wolfish decor of his ancient bedroom, her body still burning with the pleasurable pain of his ardent scratches and bites in a way she did not yet wish to heal, she could no longer deny the true nature of her wolf god lover. 

He stroked her hair, a tiny gesture that left her whole body tingling in comfort and satisfaction. “We have much to do on the morrow. It is important that we _wake up_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Fen'lath" = "wolf love"
> 
> He's so wolfy here. I think he's just really into wolves at his house, y'know? I know a guy who has these big cat posters and figurines everywhere. Same sort of thing... with more biting. Rawr.
> 
> I hope the gods came off as douchey and mean as I tried to make them. Like, they don't deserve to lead a cheer squad, let alone a damn divine pantheon. What shitty people. No wonder Arlathan was so messed up. Fuck 'em.
> 
> Morrigan's spirit is still in there, but Mythal is too strong. Morrigan will just stay repressed and die off eventually while her mother takes over completely. I'm sorry :(


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fen'Harel and Sulahn'nehn return to Atish'an, where the elves with vallaslins are acting very strangely. Fen'Harel begins removing the vallaslins from the elves to free them. They tour the city of Atish'an, and visit the College of Healing where Sulahn'nehn practices curing the Blight on live patients.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to point out that "Andaran Atish'an" (the traditional elven greeting: Enter this place in peace / literally "I dwell in this place, a place of peace") has a double meaning when you say it in the city of Atish'an. I didn't intend it originally but it made me chuckle.

When she awoke in Skyhold, Fen’Harel was already up, pacing outside on her balcony in thought with his hands behind his back. She let him think, and went to her desk to retrieve her quill and parchment. She began to draft a letter to her Tevinter friend Dorian in Minrathous, cryptically speaking of an impending invasion and urging him to quickly redouble his efforts to evacuate the slaves and commoners of his great slaver city into her lands. She quickly dressed, retrieving the pieces of her armor scattered down the stairs, and left Fen’Harel to his thoughts as she attended to urgent business. She would return to him soon enough.

She went straight to Cullen’s office, entering without knocking, where the general was at his desk, frowning in focus at a letter. Somehow, he had grown quite a lot of stubble in the day or two since she had left for Arlathan and returned. She spoke quickly, still unnoticed. “Cullen, my friend. I have important news for you. The city of Arlathan has returned to Thedas, and the ancient elves are declaring war on Tevinter. Please have our couriers deliver this letter to Dorian as soon as possible.” The general dropped his missive in surprise and stared at her. “Maker, you’re back! What? How? What does this mean? Where were you? We were all terribly worried.” She sighed. It was complicated.

“I will explain later. It involves a great deal of old magic, and our friend Solas, who is actually the ancient elven god Fen’Harel, by the way. But first we have important work to attend to. I request that we redirect our troops in Tevinter. Will you send five hundred non-elven soldiers to the Arlathan Forest, and a thousand soldiers of any background to Minrathous? We must help Dorian evacuate the city before they attack.”

The former templar stared at her in confusion, finally shrugging and nodding. “As you wish, Your Radiance. I will dispatch the troops today, and send your letter immediately with a guarded courier.” She nodded. “Thank you, Cullen. I will explain everything soon.” She left as quickly and quietly as she entered. She truly did not have time to explain it all to Cullen just yet. She began to understand her lover’s former reticence.

She returned to her quarters, which were empty. She made her way back down the stairs and found Fen’Harel in his rotunda, reading a book. “Good morning, Fen’lath,” she smiled, enjoying the sound of her new pet name for her lover. “We must return to Atish’an as soon as possible. Have you gathered your belongings?” He nodded, gesturing at a solitary leather case in the corner of the room. “I will have the servants bring it to our carriage. Come, my love, let’s make our way to the gates.” They walked together hand in hand through the whispering court to the gates, into her great white-lyrium embellished imperial carriage, pulled by two great red harts.

The journey was too quick for them to visit the Fade together in lust as they had on so many journeys before, but Fen’Harel was in any case distracted by the new order and perfection of the scenery as they passed. She continued to smile and wave at the caravans and aravels they passed on the way as was her custom, blowing kisses to small children riding on halla as they shouted words of admiration at their beloved empress.

They arrived quickly at Atish’an, where Josephine awaited them nervously. They stepped from the carriage hand in hand. “Josie, I’d like to reintroduce you to our friend. The ancient elven god, Fen’Harel.” He chuckled at her side as Josephine stood wordlessly, wide-eyed in confusion. “I see. It is a pleasure to know you, my lord.”

Josephine turned to Sulahn’nehn in worry. “We have a problem, Your Radiance. The Dalish elves… they have been acting strangely, in your absence. For weeks now, they have wandered the streets in a daze, and their markings have begun to glow. They now speak only of their chosen gods. Even your Council has been affected. They are all here, worshipping in the Pantheon.” For weeks? Surely it had only been days since she left for Skyhold. She began to understand Cullen’s new beard… and the length of Fen’Harel’s mysterious disappearance. Time spent in the Crossroads seemed to warp time in the real world. She forgave him all the more.

“I see. That is a grave matter indeed. You must know that Arlathan has now returned to Thedas, along with the ancient elven gods, who now declare war on Tevinter. I have done my best to keep them from here, and ally with them, for they are mighty and vengeful.” She sighed as Josie trembled slightly in front of her. This would be another great war. “Please call for the Council of Elders immediately. I must speak with them, and see what has happened. In addition, I will give a great announcement to the court later today. Please ensure that it sees full attendance.” Josephine nodded and left to send her missives, as Sulahn’nehn beckoned to Fen’Harel to follow her into the great, shining palace.

They went straight to the throne room, Sulahn’nehn sitting down at the shining dais in her white armor as Fen’Harel stood beside her. As they waited for the Council to appear, Briala opened the door on the far side to enter, giving a surprised cry and running to Sulahn’nehn, tightly embracing her. She almost kissed her friend in the empty throne room before Sulahn’nehn awkwardly shook her head and turned her face away in shame.

Briala turned to observe her companion. “I see. Solas is back. No wonder you disappeared for so long. So you forgave him, then? I’m happy for you, Sulie.” The Orlesian bard shook her head sadly and stepped back. Sulahn’nehn looked at her searchingly, unsure of the depth of the elf’s feelings for her, though she knew her friend still carried a torch for the now married Empress Celene, and visited her palace frequently with Alistair’s blessing.

“Bria, Solas finally told me the truth. He revealed himself to me as Fen’Harel,” she sighed, already tired of the reintroductions. Briala stared at the empress’s lover wide-eyed, already a proud follower of the artful wolf god, who was instrumental in ensuring his place in the Pantheon of Atish’an remained equally represented, despite the scorn of the Dalish.

If the Council had allowed a place for Fen’Harel’s followers among them, Briala would have been the only one to fill it. She gave a deep bow to him alone, dropping to one knee, and stood back up after a long, awkward moment with her mouth slightly agape, staring sharply at his face while he smiled at her affably. She nodded stiffly at Sulahn’nehn and bowed again at both of them, turning to leave while still shaking her head in confusion.

Sulahn’nehn sighed, putting her face in her hands. This had not gone as smoothly as she had hoped. She did not expect Briala’s stunned, wordless reaction. She would have to talk to her friend later.

Before she could explain their close friendship with benefits to her lover, who gazed at her quizzically, the Council of Elders silently filed in, their vallaslin aglow as Josie had warned. They stood in a line at the dais and stared first at her, then at her strange new companion.

“Andaran Atish’an, hahren’en.. I would like you all to meet a great man you all know already. Fen’Harel himself, the Dread Wolf.” She gestured at her Fen’lath as he bowed to the elders, smiling.

To her shock, her mother responded with a scornful cackle. “Fenedhis lasa. You bring the least of the great pantheon here to your simple empire? I would expect no less of you. We have all dreamed of our masters. We await their commands.” To her dismay, the awful Sylaise had already approached her mother, taken her mind into the god’s control. Though, truly, she was acting no different from usual. She sighed again, defeated. Her own Council had turned so quickly, with a mere snap of the will of the gods they served.

Again, to her shock, her brother Enasal spoke up softly, entirely focused on Fen’Harel from the moment she revealed him. “My lord. Are you the one that freed my sister from her vallaslin?” A surprisingly astute observation from her brother, who she had never thought much of. Fen’Harel nodded, and Enasal nervously looked to their mother before continuing. “Andruil has hunted me in my dreams for weeks now. It is… My lord, can you also remove my vallaslin?”

She had never expected her devout brother to say such a thing. He had always been so prideful in his praise of Andruil’s blessings, of which he considered himself a shining example. And he had been the most merciless of all the Dalish at the Arlath’vehn in his taunts and accusations in regard to the loss of her vallaslin, which she could never explain adequately enough, not understanding the nature of Fen’Harel’s divine blessing until years later. If Enasal wished to be freed of Andruil so quickly, her presence must have been truly intolerable.

Fen’Harel nodded again, smiling, as he approached the red-haired man and kneeled to clasp her brother’s face in his strong hands. In a flash, like he had in Crestwood, he began to dissolve the dark green vallaslin from Enasal’s face, leaving it clear. “Ar lasa mala revas,” her love said solemnly, as the councillors turned to look at Enasal’s clear new face. He looked so much like her; she had never realized it before.

Her mother began to shout at him cruelly, taunting him with words she had once used on the empress herself. Enasal remained steadfast, shaking his head and turning away from his mother to face his sister. “My sweet sister. Ir abelas, lethallan. I humbly apologize for any pain I have caused you through my foolish pride,” he said defiantly. Sulah’nehn beamed at the apology she never in her life expected to hear from her childhood tormentor. “Thank you so much, Enasal. Please visit me more often. I feel we do not know each other well enough.”

Enasal smiled at her shyly as another of the elders coughed. The aging Daewen of clan Halla’bellanar had long dedicated herself to Ghilan’nain and her teachings, and her clan proudly kept the greatest and healthiest herd of halla in the land.

“Hahren,” she said to the elven god who now stood so close to the gathered councillors. “I, too, wish to have my vallaslin removed. Ghilan’nain was not what I expected. She has proven herself vengeful and cruel as she appears in my dreams. I cannot, in good faith, follow her commands.” He nodded again, his face serious as he repeated the process quickly, leaving the aging elf without vallaslin for the first time in half a century. She miserably looked to Atisha, who silently fumed.

After a moment, Linnea of clan Din’Hamin, a great clan of funerary mages who traveled to the sites of battles to bury the forgotten dead in service to their lord Falon’Din, raised her hand to speak gravely. “I will not speak of my dreams, but I, too, wish to receive Fen’Harel’s blessing.” He walked straight towards her and she raised her head to him willingly to receive his gift of freedom. Watching them next to her, Roan of the small, secretive clan Eralath made silent eye contact with the god and slowly raised his face high, his blood-writing in service to Dirthamen, and closed his eyes as Fen’Harel easily moved his hands over. A moment later, her love raised his palms and looked around to those gathered who had not yet received the gift. They shook their heads sadly, save Atisha, who sniffed petulantly and tossed her head away.

“My gathered hahren, I have spoken to the gods in Arlathan directly,” Sulahn’nehn called sadly from her dais. “Daewen’s words are correct. The gods are indeed vengeful and cruel, all of them twisted and corrupted into madness by the Blight, save Mythal.” Aramae nodded; her dreams were surely pleasant. Nargen shifted uncomfortably in place. “Da’len, my own dreams have been… strange. I dream only of the boy Sandal, who only speaks of enchantment.” Sulahn’nehn raised an eyebrow; she had not seen June among the gathered gods in Arlathan. Could his spirit have entered the boy’s body over the centuries, like Flemeth long ago? He was a resident in the Arcanum now. She would have to interrogate him soon.

“Hahren, I will attend to your conundrum personally. It is indeed a strange dream in the face of the others. The other gods seek only to increase their own power, and to take our people as slaves. All of our people,” she emphasized. “It is dangerous for the Dalish to remain gathered. For now, I have distracted the gods with tales of the glories of Tevinter. They already march to invade the shemlen lands and enslave their people. They cannot be allowed to do that here. I will dispatch additional soldiers to guard your clans from their vengeance, and request that you maintain a safe distance between each clan, and remain within my secured borders.” They nodded at her. It was an easy enough request, given that it was to maintain their own safety.

She rose to dismiss them all before her furious mother could try to sway them from reason. “Thank you for your time, hahren’en. I have recently arrived home, and I have much to attend to. Dareth shiral.” She bowed deeply, gesturing at the door, and they stiffly returned her bows and filed out. She sighed and stretched her back. She hated these meetings, but they were unavoidable in her role. She turned to Fen’Harel with a smile. “See what I have to deal with?” she laughed. He smiled at her fondly.

“I thought they were quite commendable. Many of them were quick to swallow their pride and remove their vallaslin to their own benefit. Although you did not tell me your family were in such a prominent place on your council,” he said with a dark eyebrow raised. She shook her head. “I wouldn’t have put them on it if I had any say. They’ve been awful to me since I was a child, and they still are. Enasal shocked me with his apology today, he never acts like that. Andruil must have really scared him, he’s been obsessed with her his whole life. They were voted in by the Dalish at the Arlath’vhen. I guess being my family made them more famous than other elves,” she said wryly. She quickly changed the subject from her family, who always distressed her. “Let’s head to the Arcanum, ma Fen’lath. We need to figure out Nargen’s dreams. I have my suspicions about the boy Sandal, who is now one of my citizens.”

He smiled and nodded serenely, following her out through the great, glimmering hall into her chambers as she activated the entrance to her secret chamber and followed the dark tunnel into the Arcanum. He looked around, seemingly impressed, as Dagna and one of her assistants approached. “Sulie! It’s so good to see you! Rinya here just made her first masterwork!” Sulahn’nehn bowed deeply to the apprentice and shook her hand for the achievement. Her empire was coming so far, with so many capable arcanists at her beck and call. “Dagna, surely you have met my friend before? Though I know him by a new name now. Please meet Fen’Harel.” Dagna smilingly bowed to the bald elf. “Yep, I passed him lots of notes to you at Skyhold. We’ve never really talked, though! Hi, new old friend!” Fen’Harel smiled, charmed by the dwarf’s bubbly friendliness.

With Dagna trailing behind, Sulahn’nehn toured her love through the great halls of the Arcanum proper, its many classrooms filled with thousands of runes and strange arcane devices along with a bevy of apprentice dwarves who carefully manipulated and monitored them. He remarked at the impressive collection she had gathered, to her pride. They walked through the winding staircases lit with lyrium through the dormitories in search of Sandal, returning bows from apprentice arcanists along the way. Finally, they found him in a small, empty, unused room, playing with a rune and talking to himself on the floor.

“Are you Sandal?” asked the empress gently. The dwarf looked up at her, in a daze. “Enchantment,” he said simply.

Was this truly the spirit of June? Perhaps the presence of an ancient elven mage in the body of a lyrium-resistant dwarf had been the reason for this poor soul’s difficulties in communicating with the world normally. She turned to Fen’Harel and shrugged, perplexed. He approached the dwarf, crouching and looking into his eyes closely, finally raising a hand to the boy’s forehead and closing his eyes.

He stood and turned to face her, nodding with a serious expression. It was true, then. Nargen had dreamed of his god, like the others. A strange predicament for this ancient soul. She bowed to the boy. “June, my lord, I will leave you here in peace. Remember that you are free to enter a more comfortable room, if you wish. I will try to find a way to help you soon.” The dwarf simply looked at her, finally responding with a carefully considered “Enchantment.” Dagna stared from the boy to her empress, confused by the entire situation, as the three of them turned to leave quietly.

She said her farewells to Dagna in the main hall of the Arcanum and bade her love follow her back through the tunnel into her chambers. She popped in to Josephine’s office near her room, bidding her ambassador to call the staff of the court together to her throne room for her great announcement, along with any citizens who wished to listen. She returned to her chambers where Fen’Harel stood peacefully, gazing out of her balcony at the familiar view of her waterfall. She entered her closet to don more appropriate garb than her armor for addressing the court.

She quickly chose a white undersilk and a filigreed lattice gown of red bloodstone, stepping into a newly popular contraption for her feet that raised her taller while still leaving her red-lacquered toes bare and close to the ground. She was still tying the red rashvine laces of her shoes when Fen’Harel entered her closet and outright laughed. “You have so many clothes, vhenan. I did not expect you to be so frivolous. You have clearly spent too much time in Orlais,” he teased. She blushed. “I made everything you see here by hand. It is an art form like any other,” she retorted in her own defense.

He grinned and nodded at her. “It is indeed. I am proud to witness your exquisite craftsmanship, my heart. In such conspicuous abundance,” he said in a teasing voice. Still blushing, she stood up and began to walk past him out of the room. Fen’Harel laughed again and hunted her until he caught her by the doorway, pressing her light latticed skirts against the arched frame as he kissed her.

“Do not let my parsimoniousness keep you from your glorious work, vhenan. You are so beautiful, in anything you wear,” he whispered to her softly. She smiled at him mischievously and darted out of his arms, almost running out of her room to get away. She desperately lusted to kiss him back, but she had urgent business, and there would be time for kissing later. She knew herself too well to let herself go any further before the announcement had to be made; it could easily take them an hour, while her people waited patiently. Her bald lover chuckled to himself as he walked out of the room behind her.

She walked straight into her throne room and sat gracefully, watched by the hundreds of eyes of those who had gathered. Her familiar friends and staff stood closest of those facing her, with throngs of students and citizens watching carefully from the back of the room to see what her great announcement would be. Fen’Harel took the place beside her throne again, a gesture that from anyone else would have seemed arrogant and presuming, but he stood humbly beside the empress he loved with his hands behind his back as the gathered crowd stared in suspicion at the unfamiliar elf.

She could not waste their time with timidness. She spotted the uniforms of guards and healers in the crowd; her people had left their livelihoods to hear her speak. She spoke up from her great, shining throne to address her citizens. “Andaran atish’an, people of this place of peace. I bring important tidings. The city of Arlathan and the ancient elves have returned once more to Thedas.” The quiet crowd suddenly broke into a murmur; she raised a hand and waited a moment for silence to fall before she continued. “Arlathan is located in Southern Tevinter. For now, the ancient elves seek to restore their former lands. Our great ancestors now march on Tevinter, and I have agreed to join them. Our northern allies already resist the slave lords. The people of New Elvhenan are free and equal, and we will never submit to slavery. We go to war, as a nation, to keep the war from coming to us.”

The crowd’s silence broke once again, panic rising in their voices. She raised a hand to quell their fears. “Do not despair. We will see no harm come to the peaceful city of Atish’an, or anywhere in our borders. Our army remains the mightiest in the land, and we are protected from Tevinter aggression by the vast lands of our Orlesian and Nevarran friends. And now, we are allied with the fabled ancient elves, with the possibility of gaining their great lost knowledge for our own empire.” The room broke out into quiet murmurs again; she let them talk while she decided what she could and could not declare.

“Also…” she began hesitantly. Here’s your new Emperor! No, that was entirely inappropriate. She could not give him such an important title without a formal public ceremony to appease the masses, and there was no time for such pomp while a war began. She had not even asked if he wanted it yet. She had to find another way to introduce him to her people.

“As many of you now know, the ancient elven gods have also returned to this world. They are real people, elven beings of great power, no different from us, save their advanced magic. Many of the Dalish elves have dreamed of the ancient gods they chose with their blood-writing, the face markings we call vallaslin. Today, I wish to tell you all what I have learned of the true nature of the vallaslin.” She turned to look at Fen’Harel nervously, who nodded at her reassuringly to continue. She spoke powerfully and confidently now, well aware that any hesitance in her shocking revelation would lead to scornful rebellions.

“What we Dalish know as vallaslin are, in fact, ancient slave markings. They are magical bindings created by the elven gods to suppress the free will of their slaves. The gods were no more than elven magisters. Nobles once branded their own slaves with a god’s mark to win favor from that god. The dreams experienced by the Dalish people are simply the gods reaching out to control you. Like the Tevinter, they are slave holders, and they now wish to take the elves of Thedas as slaves in their great restoration and abuse our devotion. The vallaslin many of you possess will allow them to control you against your will and bind you as a slave. They will lead you to their own ends, and their ends are terrible. These beings are powerful, vengeful and cruel, much like the evil Corypheus, whom I vanquished long ago. My people, you must resist their control, for they will surely lead you to harm to serve their own ends.”

The crowd broke into a terrified roar as they collectively reacted in shock. She had expected as much; this sort of reaction was why she had refused to explain the details of how she lost her vallaslin to anyone, even as her brother publicly accused her of dealing with demons. It had been difficult enough for her to accept the truth so long ago. This revelation would surely shake the very bones of Dalish culture, as the blood-writing had become a devout ritual to mark one’s coming of age. It had changed so much in meaning since the fall of Arlathan, becoming a mark that proudly signified one’s Dalish heritage and personality through their choice of god, but the return of the gods brought too much danger for the Dalish to continue their ancient tradition. She raised her hand patiently and waited for the noise to die down.

“There is a solution.” She gestured to her lover, who nodded and bowed to the crowd. “My companion here is the ancient elven god Fen’Harel, who fights for freedom on our side. He alone has the power to remove the vallaslin, and he bestowed that gift on me many years ago, freeing me from the control of Sylaise. He can remove the vallaslin for any marked elf that wishes to see their freedom restored.” She looked at her love, suddenly guilty for suddenly burdening him with the great task of removing the vallaslins of her entire empire without asking him first, but he smiled at her warmly, his eyes crinkling with pride in her actions.

She could not tell them much more without the possible threat of betraying herself to her own enemies. So many of the crowd were Dalish, and she knew the gods had already began to worm their way into the sleeping minds of her people. She stood to leave her people with words of hope to assuage them. “As long as I live, you will be free. You will only see the circumstances of your lives improve, that I can promise you. I will not rest in the pursuit of freedom and knowledge, for all your sakes.” She extended her hands to her people as they broke into a happy cheer. Finally, they were placated. She smiled and bowed, quickly and gracefully stepping out of her throne room.

She turned to Fen’Harel, who followed behind her. “I’m so sorry for volunteering your help without asking, ma lath,” she said awkwardly. “I meant to speak to you about it, but we’ve been so busy…” He laughed and shook his head. “Vhenan, do not fret. This is what I was meant to do. I am glad you spread the word so efficiently. Will you show me where your healers work, so I may make myself known there?”

She smiled and took his arm, leading him out into the great paved pedestrian streets of Atish’an towards the impressively tall lyrium-ornamented twin towers of College of Healing Arts. The building was a great medical hospice that served all of Thedas gratuitously, and white-and-red uniformed students scurried around to attend to the many visitors who filled the waiting room they now entered, ailed with all kinds of maladies, from burns to plagues. Two great, columnar towers rose from a vast, lush courtyard behind this great hall, one tower for the studies of Circle mages and one for the Elven mages, who tirelessly studied their varied techniques toward the same goal.

At the empress’s entrance, one of the elder professors scuttled away urgently, bringing back with him the Circle enchanter Yvonne, one of the two Deans of this college. The ornately robed mage approached them solemnly, bowing deeply, a gesture they quickly returned, before turning to her empress with a grave expression. “Your Radiance, it is a pleasure to be in your esteemed presence. A matter has recently arisen that requires your urgent attention. Several of the recent refugees from Tevinter are afflicted by the Blight, and we are unable to contain it. We have quarantined these individuals for now, but the plague threatens to spread to the rooms around them. We must find an adequate solution to prevent this Blight from spreading throughout the hospice.”

Sulahn’nehn nodded. This was serious. The elves had already began to spread their ancient disease along with their invasion. The situation was already worse than she had expected. It was time for her to practice her techniques on the breathing, rather than the mysterious living stone of the world she had dedicated years to healing.

The enchanter did not yet know of her power, but the empress knew she could trust her, as Vivienne’s former apprentice. “Please show me to the room where my people are quarantined, Enchanter Yvonne,” she commanded politely, dismissing the mage’s protests for her own defense. Finally, the enchanter acquiesced to her empress’s demands, sighing and leading them through the courtyard to the Circle tower, where they quickly ascended the spiral stairs to the great room at its apex, a round, empty chamber often used for large-scale enchantments.

A group of former Tevinter slaves huddled together in the center of the room, ten of them in all, varying wildly in age and background: several young elves, scarred and crippled human men, a female Qunari. They all looked stricken and defeated as they stared up at her silently, slumping on the floor in pain with their bloodless faces marred by patches of blackness. Yvonne and Fen’Harel stood nervously in the doorway as the empress approached her patients freely. “Your Radiance, you must be careful. The Blight is easily spread, and there is yet no cure,” the older mage warned apprehensively.

Sulahn’nehn turned and smiled at her. “Enchanter Yvonne, I have learned an ancient art in my travels that allows me to cure the Blight. I will allow you to witness my techniques, if you give me your word of secrecy and never speak of it to your esteemed peers.” The mage nodded at her, wide-eyed and speechless, as she casually took her dragonbone staff into her hands and began to focus her divine light at the gathered patients.

She focused all of her will into the great flash, as though she were in a massive chamber of red lyrium, greater than her own Arcanum. The light faded. Nothing had happened. She frowned, flustered, as the group of Blighted former slaves ailed weakly on the floor exactly as they had a moment before. What had gone wrong? There was more to curing people than there was to purifying lyrium, she slowly realized. What else had the fennec taught her that she missed? She concentrated on the memory of her Fade-touched training; the balls of light, the fruit… the song. That was it. That was the element she was missing: the song of lyrium, the unearthly and glorious song she could finally remember forever whenever she wished to.

She gathered her memories for a moment, and began to sing, her high voice echoing through the rotunda as she uttered strange, familiar words she could not understand and focused her will and light again through her staff. The entire room shimmered, aglow; the light that shone from her staff softened with the song, its harsh beam diffusing throughout the chamber as it began to fill the Blighted slaves.

When she stopped singing, the echoes continued for minutes on end, a ghostly chorus of her own voice that irradiated into the spirits of all who witnessed it. Slowly, the brilliant light faded as the unearthly echo faded into silence. The freed slaves stood, save for the poor shemlen man without legs, their energy restored, their pale faces filling again with the healthy blush of flowing blood. She did it. They were cured.

She turned to the doorway, where Fen’Harel beamed at her proudly and Yvonne stared at her in amazement. She smiled at the enchanter. “I trust you will find this an amenable solution to our problem, Enchanter Yvonne?” she asked sweetly, secretly amused by the powerful and lauded enchanter’s stupefaction. The enchanter nodded at her in awe. “Your Radiance, that was… I have never seen such magic, nor did I think it possible. You are truly a wonder, my lady. I submit to the glory of your elven heritage.” She smiled in pleasure at the enchanter’s praise. The Circle had always been so dismissive of elven magic, but that was finally beginning to change.

“Thank you, Enchanter Yvonne. I would be happy to repeat this process whenever you ask it of me. Send the word to Ambassador Josephine, and I will come here as soon as I can. I suspect we will encounter many more blighted slaves in the coming future.” The enchanter nodded and bowed at her request.

The bald elf looked at her pointedly. She suddenly remembered the reason for their visit. “I have another present for you, Enchanter. Please meet Fen’Harel, an original member of the ancient elven pantheon. He possesses the unique ability to remove the marks from the faces of the Dalish. I trust you are aware of my earlier announcement?”

The enchanter looked at Fen’Harel reverently, and turned back to her. “Yes, Your Radiance. I understand that the markings are a great burden in the reappearance of your gods.”

She nodded. “Fen’Harel has agreed to remove the vallaslins from the Dalish who wish it, en masse. I would be honored to have your assistance in making the process go smoothly for our kind lord. It would be easiest to have the Dalish gather at appointed times, so he does not have to live on your campus. Perhaps every Wednesday at noon?” She looked at her lover, who nodded, smiling. “Then it is settled. Please spread the word to your patients and students, as well as Dean Orin.” The enchanter nodded slowly. “Of course, Your Radiance. We will arrange a chamber for his personal use.” Sulahn’nehn thanked her, and the two elves left together, hands barely brushing as they walked closely side by side through the throngs of students and ailing patients.

The sun had begun to set, kissing the beautiful city of Atish’an with a warm coppery glow. Sulahn’nehn took Fen’Harel’s hand through her favorite streets. She led him through Gallery Row, beaming in pride as he praised the modernity and free creativity of her empire’s great artists; their works were impressively disparate, unique in material and approach, free of censorship.

One Rivaini artist had chosen to focus his work on Sulahn’nehn herself, and the scandalous rumors surrounding her; his lifelike portraits featured the pretty empress in various states of undress, often accompanied by a variety of supporting characters, and she did not stop him. Her sordid reputation was, after all, her own fault, one that had brought her many interesting new lovers over the years. She found the insolent portraits rather amusing, and had purchased one herself, a hilarious image of her standing proudly naked over an entangled harem of exhausted young elven girls, a situation she had found herself in many times before. Fen’Harel raised a silent eyebrow at her in the impertinent artist’s gallery, and she responded with an ebullient chuckle as the Rivaini artist observed his muse nervously.

Her love was especially taken by the exquisite landscapes of Josephine’s sister Yvette; he stood for ten minutes in awe at a large impressionistic scene in oils of the Brecilian Forest, which she immediately purchased for him to Yvette’s delight.

She showed him her favorite statue at the end of the Row, of all the great sculptures that adorned her wide stone streets: a gloriously deconstructed effigy of Fen’Harel himself, made of barely welded but distinct flat sheets of glimmering silverite that resembled the sails of aravels as much as they resembled a wolf, though they were nothing like the stoic stone wolves she grew up with in her Dalish camps. He stood at his statue for minutes, admiring its unraveled outline, before he turned to her with a smile. “Your people truly enjoy freedoms, ma vhenan. They are even free from tradition. This is the work of a unique mind.” Indeed, the Nevarran sculptor Rickard was an impressive talent to behold; he was an honored member of her court, and she often came to him to discuss interesting new techniques.

She beamed at him and led him to the great Pantheon near where they stood, the jewel of her city. Of all her carefully wrought splendors, this would surely impress him most. The massive, round, windowless building stood resplendent in its own blossoming courtyard, high above a great, glowing lyrium-set staircase. The entire roof was made of closely entangled arches of white lyrium, a luxury that would have been an impossibly costly expense to any other empire, but its material had only taken Sulahn’nehn three days to produce. Its tall dome rose into a white, glowing spire, the lyrium from its roof streaming in twisted ribbons down its great marble walls.

They stopped as her love gazed up at the edifice in wonder. She began to explain its function. “This is the Pantheon, the great temple in service to all the gods. I created this place to ensure the equality of every faith. I did not wish to burden my people with a bevy of temples to maintain. Here, they can worship their chosen gods as they wish. There are altars and alcoves for every deity, including the Old Gods, and the Maker. And you, of course.”

He smiled at her. “You are so wise, vhenan. I had never anticipated such a skillful solution to your cultural conundrum. My proud brethren will not be happy about this,” he chuckled. “Is there a place for you?” She balked at his words. She had not considered this before. Her supposed divinity was still alien to her. “Not at present. It would be very strange… but I would not stop them,” she sighed. She began to walk up the many stairs to the temple as he followed her inside.

The glow from the ceiling filled their vision with a blinding light as they entered. Slowly, their eyes adjusted, and the temple’s vast interior came into view. Alcoves with great marble altars were set into every inch of the round walls, each altar adorned with an effigy of a different god, laden with flowers and favors from their followers. The room was mostly filled with vallaslin-clad Dalish elves, who stood at their chosen alcoves, staring at the altars in a silent, unmoving daze. Fen’Harel’s alcove lay unattended, adorned only with Briala’s arrows. A great alcove to one side boasted more activity, its statue of Andraste rising high above the bare-faced elves and humans that entered to quickly pray to their Maker.

Fen’Harel stood frowning at the Dalish elves, who still stood paralyzed and disoriented at their altars. Sulahn’nehn shook her head at him. “This not the time, Fen’lath.. The elves in this temple are the most devoted of all. We cannot take their vallaslin unless they ask it of us. We must wait for your appointments.” He sighed and nodded at her, still frowning in dismay.

Her shining temple was less glorious now thanks to the machinations of the blighted gods. Sulahn’nehn, too, began to frown in disappointment. It would take a long time for the most devoted of her people to be free of their cruel masters. Perhaps vanquishing these gods was the only option she had left, as impossible as it seemed. Each one of them was more powerful than Corypheus. She sighed and turned to leave, momentarily defeated.

She took him to the one place she knew would never disappoint her as the darkness set in: The Lute and Fiddle, her favorite tavern of all the many establishments that entertained her people. They entered unnoticed, as the gathered bards sang loudly and drunkenly in beautiful harmony along to a bearded man’s lute-accompanied rendition of “Andraste’s Mabari.” The empress and her lover sat unhindered for hours in a dark corner, cuddling, kissing and sharing ales, as they peacefully enjoyed the tavern’s entertainment.

As the night drew to a close and the tavern's crowd dwindled, she graced her love with a song of her own, taking the lute from the stage and standing by him to sing to him directly. She sang the one song that had always reminded her most of him. It was one she once avoided for years, a song so perfect now in her deeper understanding of him that he could have _written_ it for all she knew.

Her sweet soprano voice rang out clear in the small tavern, its architecture perfectly designed for an acoustic reverb that let her song resonate all the more. Her own eyes glistened as she sang the words, so old, so dear to the Elven people.

_Once we were_  
 _In our peace  
With our lives assured._

_Once we were  
Not afraid of the dark._

_Once we sat in our kingdom  
With hope and pride._

_Once we ran through  
The fields with great strides._

None had run through more fields over the centuries than Fen'Harel himself. She understood this song so much more now, as she sang into his wistful gaze. It was a song she had learned as a toddler and sung all her life as a dirthenera, but never understood more than the barest surface of what it recounted. This was a song that truly encompassed what had been lost to the elven people, what she now tried to restore. She realized this song referred to their loss of uthenera, their loss of Dreaming abilities over the ages.

_We held the Fade_  
 _And the demon’s flight_  
 _So far from our children  
And from our lives._

_We held together_  
 _The fragile sky  
To keep our way of life._

The fragile sky... This part had caused Sulahn'nehn much comfort in the days around the Breach, but she knew now who had originally fought to protect the elven people from the blighted slavers. She knew who had held up the sky and created the Veil at Terasly'an Tel'as, the fortress he gave her so lovingly. This song spoke directly of her love, who now gazed so deeply into her eyes as she sang that her heart skipped, his expression sad but loving as his grey eyes glistened. 

When she put down the borrowed lute and sat on his lap, he kissed her deeply, holding her so tightly that she could hardly breathe. She gasped and kissed him back fervently. The song had related so much of what she was unable to say with words; her true grief over the losses sustained by their people, her forgiveness and pride in his mighty actions that had caused so much upheaval in the world two millennia ago. How much she _understood_ what he had suffered, and why. 

Exhausted from the long day’s work, they returned to her chambers, ambling leisurely hand in hand down the lyrium-lit streets. They made sweet, gentle love that night, kissing all the while, and returning together to the Fade as they drifted into dreams to continue their passions under her magically heated waterfall.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fen'Harel explains his baldness... and Andruil invades Atish'an. BOSS BATTLE TIME!
> 
> NSFW chapter: Lavellan x Briala x Fen'Harel

Her life was utter bliss for an entire week. Every night, she fell asleep in his arms, and every morning she woke to his kind smile and passionate kisses. To her delight, he began to paint a great elven mural on the walls of her room as she spent her days in court judgement, a vivid scene that depicted her beloved waterfall and its rainbows in kaleidoscopic glory. She showed him the entire city, touring him through its every wonder in her free time as the days passed. He endlessly praised the virtues of her great university, promising to teach advanced magic to its great scholars when their troubles were over.

One bright morning, she awoke with his head redolent in her arms to the sight of dark stubble growing from his bald scalp. She laughed aloud in surprise as he sleepily opened his eyes. “What is it, vhenan?” he murmured lazily. “You have hair! All over your head!” she exclaimed. He chuckled quietly and raised a dark eyebrow at her. “Of course I have hair, vhenan. Did you think I could not grow it?” She giggled in embarrassment.

“Well, I just thought you were… unlucky. I’ve never even seen you with stubble before.” He gave a deep, resonant laugh. “It is the custom of my people to keep our heads bare with magic. It is considered a symbol of power. The enchantment lasts a fortnight. I rarely venture out without keeping myself maintained.” She giggled again. A symbol of power? “That is quite funny to me, Fen’lath. I have always associated a lack of hair with the aging and weak, those who cannot grow hair on their own. It is interesting that your people approach it so differently.” His face turned serious as he raised an eyebrow at her. “Do you not like it?”

She shrugged pleasantly. “I am used to it, my love. You are perfect to me. I have come to find your egg head endearing.” She giggled again, teasing him. “Though it took a while. Why else do you think I kept giving you all those silly hats? They couldn’t make your shiny head look worse…” He groaned and shook his head in exasperation as she laughed again and showered his scratchy scalp with loving kisses.

The next morning, to her great surprise, he had already grown a full head of lusciously thick, black, straight hair, an impressive mane that swooped over his head and reached his shoulders. She gazed at him in awe as he smiled and kissed her good morning. He was handsome before, serious grey eyes set deep into his chiseled features, but the dark hair framed and accentuated his face in a manner that made him look positively godly.

She stroked his thick, coarse hair, like a wolf’s pelt, her eyes wide, speechless in her admiration as she lay under him. Finally, she whispered her pleasure to him, her voice cracking like a young girl with a crush. “You are… so handsome, ma lath. I can hardly bear it,” she murmured. His kind eyes crinkled as he smiled down at her. “If I had known my hair would have this effect on you, I would have grown it out much sooner, my heart,” he murmured. She began to kiss him passionately, writhing against him in lust.

Her admiration was interrupted by the urgent entrance of Briala, fully armored. The elf stepped into her private chambers brazenly, sitting on the end of the bed and ignoring their embarrassed shuffling as Fen’Harel left her arms to cover himself beside her.

“What is it, Bria?” she said gently to her general, who looked distressed as she sat and stared at Fen’Harel’s half-finished mural. “Your Radiance. I bring news from Tevinter. Minrathous has been razed to the ground.” Sulahn’nehn sat up with a start. Razed? The entire ancient capital city of Tevinter, utterly destroyed. Every living being inside enslaved or murdered. The vengeance of these gods was truly callous. She despised them more than ever.

“And what of our refugees? Any word from Dorian?” she asked softly. Briala turned to look at her. “He arrived early this morning with a thousand former slaves and commoners, Your Radiance. They file for citizenship as we speak. He wishes to speak with you urgently. He has lost his family,” she said sadly, her dark liquid eyes filled with sorrow. Sulahn’nehn closed her eyes in grief, her face clasped sorrowfully in her hands. Her dear friend had lost his home, his family, his people. She had sent the gods to Tevinter. This was her fault. She had to fix this, as much as she could without endangering her own people.

She felt a comforting hand on her thigh as Fen’Harel murmured to her reassuringly. “Vhenan, this is not your fault. Had you not misdirected my brethren, it would be Atish’an we saw razed this day. You have protected the innocent. You have done as much as you can.” She nodded miserably, though she did not believe him. There was still much she could do to save her people from the blighted gods.

“Briala, please set our city’s troops on high alert, and send to Cullen for reinforcements. Atish’an is in more danger than ever,” she sighed. “I will attend to Dorian as soon as I can. I trust he is in his quarters?” Briala nodded and walked out of the room silently. Their close relationship had fractured in her lover’s return. Sulahn’nehn noted to herself to make their impending heart-to-heart a priority.

She quickly dressed in a pale green under-silk and lattice gown made with thin, malleable strips of silverite, applying only a layer of dark wax to her pale red lashes and brows before she left. She kissed her love goodbye as he prepared the materials to continue his mural, and walked quickly to the magnificent home she had gifted to Dorian as she created fine homes for all her companions, though he rarely used it.

He was already inside as she had hoped, pacing miserably, his handsome, tanned face streaked with tears of grief that ran into his carefully sculpted moustache. He was not alone; the Iron Bull sat at his table watching him, looking dejected. She walked straight to the grieving Tevinter and pulled him into a silent embrace as he began to sob. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” she whispered to her friend in anguish as he cried in her arms. He finally pulled away from her, drying his tears on his fine silk sleeve.

“I tried to warn them all. I went to the Magisterium after I got your letter. They wouldn’t listen to me. They called me a coward, and insisted they could win. My father wouldn’t let my family leave. As I left, I watched the city burn to the ground, my family inside it,” he lamented. “I saw the elves attack as the people evacuated. They killed the weak, and used their strange magic to turn the strongest magisters to their will. I watched the Archon try to kill one of the gods. He raised a hand and made the Archon kill hundreds of his own allies behind him. I could do nothing but run away. Like a coward.”

She held him tightly, reassuringly. He had come so far since she met him, since Fen’Harel taunted him into caring for the slaves of his own homeland, guiding his path into the great emancipator of slaves he had become, and now he had suffered so greatly at her expense. “Dorian, you did everything you could. You have saved thousands. The innocent of Minrathous were spared, thanks to you. You were so brave,” she urged. He shook his head miserably, refusing to believe her words. She well understood his sentiment.

“But my family…” he said softly. She grasped his shoulders warmly. “We’re your family, Dorian. We love you. We have always accepted you as you are. You are free to be yourself here,” she said earnestly as he looked at her sadly. Bull stood from his chair, walking over to Dorian to embrace him from behind even as Sulahn’nehn held her friend. “Yeah. We’re your family,” the Qunari murmured to his lover as the Tevinter mage finally smiled through his tears.

“Not all the magisters and mages have been turned, or murdered. The few good ones I was friends with did listen to me in time. They left for Qarinus.” A great slaver city, Qarinus was close to Arlathan, and now the greatest city in Tevinter with the loss of Minrathous. She knew where the gods would turn their wrath to next. Her work was not over. The slaves of this city needed her help, if they were to survive the war. Dorian had done enough, seen enough; it was time for her to take over.

She left Dorian in Bull’s capable arms and returned determinedly to her palace, where Josephine awaited her inside the antechamber. “Your Radiance, the gathered leaders of our allied nations await you urgently at court,” she said solemnly. Sulahn’nehn thanked her and swiftly made her way to her great throne room.

In the court stood a great, assorted retinue of guards, their noble charges seated in comfortable chairs in a semicircle on the stage around her throne. Emperor Alistair and Empress Celene both reclined in their seats, awaiting her as they conversed pleasantly with the other nobles: the aging King Markus of Nevarra, the powerlessly symbolic King Dario of Antiva, and to her surprise, the stoic hornless Arishok of the Qunari.

She sat on her throne to face them. They looked worried. The Arishok was the first to speak. “The return of these ancient elves poses a significant threat to Thedas,” he said solemnly. “We must ally to find a solution.”

Ally with the Qunari? She had not expected the Arishok to approach her again in any sort of polite manner after she allowed their great Dreadnought to sink to save her beloved Bull’s Chargers and protect her friends. She had long expected an invasion from them. She smiled graciously at the Arishok, whose missives to her in the past years had been terse at best.

King Markus piped up feebly. “These elves seem to possess a might that rivals Corypheus. Perhaps our fabled Herald of Andraste can find a solution, as she did before.” She frowned. It would not be easy. Their powers out-rivaled Corypheus’s might on an individual level. Defeating Corypheus had been hard enough without Mythal’s help, but now six of them turned their vengeance on the world, and Mythal was on their side.

“Do not underestimate these elves, my friends,” she said gravely. “Each one of them is more powerful than Corypheus. The Arishok is right. We cannot fight them on our own. We must band together. Furthermore, we must convince them that we are their allies, if we are to survive. We must attack Tevinter in their stead.”

The gathered leaders shifted uncomfortably. “But the Tevinter people…” Celene began. Sulahn’nehn sighed. “How long have you all been at war with Tevinter? Centuries, now? How many troops have I sent you in aid over these years to help you punish the slavers? Do not forget the crimes of the magisters. They have kidnapped and enslaved our people to their own ends. They summon demons freely and wantonly, shedding the unwilling blood of their slaves to further their power. They are no different from these cruel elves, save their relative weakness. If we can defeat anyone, it must be the Tevinter, for the ancient elves will not rest until they have a homeland restored. If they look away from Tevinter for even a moment, they will turn to invade our lands.”

Her allies looked at each other for a moment and finally nodded. She continued. “I have done my best to keep them from any knowledge of where our borders lie. If we continue to come to them willingly, they have no need to seek us out. I will entreat with them directly to inform them of your new allegiance. I suggest that each of you send modest reinforcements to Arlathan as a show of good will. I have reason to believe they will attack the city of Qarinus next. We have one advantage: they are prideful in their power, and think themselves above us. They will never expect us to plot against them, while they think us small and foolish.” She had no desire to actually speak with the cruel, blighted gods again, but she knew Fen’Harel would be happy to oblige on her behalf.

The leaders murmured in approval of her cunning plan. “But what of the innocent slaves of Qarinus?” pressed Celene. Sulahn’nehn pondered for a moment. “I have done much to protect the slaves of Minrathous on my own. I have brought thousands of refugees into my empire at my own expense. My borders are bursting, but your lands are vast,” she sighed. “If you care for the slaves, then help me. Send soldiers and spies to Qarinus, and amass the innocent. Take them into your own borders. The more of you that help me in this, the more innocent lives we can spare in the face of this invasion.” Celene and Alistair shared a meaningful glance before Alistair spoke up. “Fine. We’ll help. Maker knows what we’ll do with them all.” She looked to Markus, Dario and the Arishok, who finally nodded. She smiled, relieved; Dorian’s emancipative efforts had been easy enough to reassign, and now promised an even grander scale than before.

Her diplomatic efforts had proved a victory. The leaders left Atish’an to the gathered farewells and bows of Sulahn’nehn and her courtiers, their fears calmed by her proposal. She returned to her room to tell the paint-smattered Fen’Harel of the fruits of her successful meeting; he quickly left for the Eluvian in Skyhold, bidding her a warm farewell as her stomach churned in fear that once again he would not return.

His return never seemed to come, her silent worries growing as she waited for him yet again. Was he now content to live in his magnificent old home? Had he rejoined his brethren? She tried to quell her fears in trust of his love, remembering the two weeks it had taken her to return from Arlathan even as she so swiftly attended to her business and returned as the swift path of the Crossroads took longer than the real world.

Tidings of devastating Tevinter losses reached her every day; the gods had already begun to rebuild over the ruin of Minrathous, renaming it the city of Suledin as the ancient elves slowly spread their boundaries. Her allies sent their troops alongside her own, as she suggested, but their armies did little work, watching uselessly in horror as the gods themselves stalked the cities of Tevinter in a passionate and gleeful display of violence. She announced a state of emergency throughout her empire in the wake of the increasingly violent invasion, and her soldiers began to guard Atish’an’s every street and great building with increasing alertness.

As she waited in growing distress, Cole came to her, the spirit of compassion freely fleeting around her empire but rarely to Atish’an, a city of joyful expression of knowledge and art where her people were all richly and equally content. She smiled at him in surprise. It had been a long time since she saw him last. She was so happy now, and her sorrows had been carefully repressed over the years since her love’s sudden departure, through her avoidance of old haunts and the arms of others as her memories no longer triggered her despair. She worried for her love’s return more than she herself realized.

He was not doing a good job of comforting her. He stood with a stricken expression, clearly distracted from what he had meant to say. It was harder for him now, as a complete spirit.

He began to speak proudly, scornfully, in a way he never had before. “You are acceptable, little child. I am glad you brought the staff. It is intact. You may be my high priestess. Now sing.”

Sulahn’nehn gasped at his words; surely he was channeling Sylaise. To whom did she speak? Someone of her old clan? Her high priestess would surely be a force in any battle against her. She hated to think of killing one of her family, as distant from them as she was.

He shook his head and returned to his old self, speaking distantly, urgently. “They hurt, and they anger, flaming furls flickering freely through their feelings, and they do not know where it comes from. They are afraid. They fear the Blight, that consumes them and their lands. They fear the strange new world they now face. They fear you.”

She nodded in growing empathy. It was not her sorrows the compassionate spirit had come to her to ease. She would try to heal them, as Judex had taught her, before she fought them. It was only right; Fen’Harel had once told her the gods had been perfectly reasonable and wise before the Blight sent them into vengeful madness.

Finally, Fen’Harel returned to her after two weeks with good news, his long mane streaming behind him as he informed her of the pantheon’s pleasure at their new allies, with a smirk. The foolishly prideful gods never suspected her plot.

Fen’Harel had returned, and she had still not spoken to Briala. The exchange finally happened one chilly night, as the two elven lovers relaxed in her great bed, reading an elven tome together as the ancient elf taught his young love to read his great, forgotten language. Briala slammed open the door and stalked into the room, in light silks, clearly a little drunk, forcefully joining them on the bed to lay beside her empress.

“Bria…” Sulahn’nehn said hesistantly, confused by her friend’s behavior. “Are you all right?” Briala said nothing, staring impassively at the lyrium-embellished ceiling. After a moment, she pulled the empress into a forceful kiss, to Fen’Harel’s jealous glare. To her surprise, Briala climbed over Sulahn’nehn, planting an equally forceful kiss on Fen’Harel’s shocked lips before sitting back on the bed defiantly.

“Briala!” she exclaimed. She felt so guilty for her friend’s painful experiences. She had been a secret lover and handmaid to the Empress Celene all her life. After her regal love’s royal wedding, she had been relegated to an imperial mistress, though she was now the general of a new empire. Surely she had joined both Celene and Alistair in recent times. This must have become an old, painful habit for her. Sharing the bed of a new empress could not have made it any easier for her to deal with, especially if she had begun to harbor feelings for Sulahn’nehn, whose own heart had been entirely enveloped by the wolf god long ago, until she sealed it away in sorrow.

Briala closed her eyes and began to whimper. “Sulie, I know you love him. I really am happy for you. But I love you, too. And I love Celene, and she loves Alistair. All I want is for someone to love me.” Sulahn’nehn sat up to embrace her friend. “I do love you, Bria. You’re my best friend. And I know for a fact that Celene loves you, so much,” she said in earnest, kissing away her friend’s tears. “I’m so sorry I took this so far. I never meant to hurt you. I never realized you would feel for me that way. I thought you only loved Celene.” Briala opened her eyes and stared at her searchingly. She reassured her with a gentle kiss, turning to Fen’Harel to see his eyebrows raised in empathy, slowly nodding.

With a mischievous smile, she began to shed Briala’s soft suit, already naked from her loving tryst with her Fen’lath hours before. She had shared Briala with many, but never with Fen’Harel; she momentarily wondered if he had ever experienced the pleasure of multiple women, in his many years. She pushed Briala down on the bed and winked at her love, gesturing to him to join her in pleasuring the distressed elven girl. He happily obliged, gently kissing and exploring the slender girl’s body in wonder as Sulahn’nehn tasted her sweetness. Briala moaned and writhed in the embrace of the two loving gods. He took them both that night, and the three of them woke up together, with Briala snuggling cozily in the middle of their embrace.

A while after Briala had dressed and left, the elven general ran back into her room, aghast. She nearly shouted, her Orlesian accent staccato in her alarm. “Your Radiance! Armor up! One of the gods is attacking the Pantheon!” Sulahn’nehn jumped to her feet with a start, quickly donning her armor without thought of makeup or hair as she grabbed her staff and ran towards the Pantheon, Fen’Harel trailing urgently behind her with his own staff.

As she approached the Pantheon, she was insistently blocked by a group of silent Dalish elves, their faces marred by Andruil’s vallaslin. Of course Andruil was the one to attack them first. She had been the most suspicious of all the gods of Sulahn’nehn’s unusually simple invasive strategy. She stopped, hesistantly, unwilling to attack her own people even in their mindless slavery to her enemy, but Fen’Harel raised his staff behind her, and the throng of elves wordlessly parted to allow them to pass. She ran straight through, leaving her love to attend to the corrupted Dalish minions in his peaceful way.

Andruil was standing on the steps to the temple, grinning wickedly at the many bodies of the temple guards that lay around her, horrifically dismembered. She wore a massive suit of red lyrium armor, reminiscent of Corypheus’s corrupted templar commanders. In her hand was a great red sword, dripping with the blood of her sweet people, wisps of blackness streaming from its corrupted blade. A trail of black pollution betrayed the path she had walked to enter. She turned to mock Sulahn’nehn as she approached.

“Here comes the puny shemlen empress to try to vanquish her goddess,” Andruil jeered loudly, crystals of red lyrium rendering her elven features twisted and hideous. “Will you throw your little fireballs at me now, like the Tevinter children attempted? Watch as I flick them away with nothing but my will. Watch as your own people come to my aid against you. Watch as I enslave you all. Bask in my glory, before I vanquish you and take your miserable little empire.”

Sulahn’nehn was unhindered by the goddess’s fruitless attempts at discouraging her. She was less intimidating than the empress’s own mother, proud and corrupted though she was. She did not know of Sulahn’nehn’s power. It would be easy enough to gain the advantage.

But before she could retaliate, her brother Enasal foolishly ran to her defense, his face and mind finally clear, placing himself defiantly between the goddess and his sister with his bow raised. Andruil gave a cruel cackle as she raised her huge sword and swiftly lopped off his head, which slowly rolled to Sulahn’nehn’s stricken feet, her own family’s blood pooling around her bare toes, his disembodied expression forever fixed into a grimace of pain and sorrow.

Enasal, her only brother, her childhood tormentor, had defied the goddess he loved all his life to protect her. And the goddess had spurned him so cruelly, the devout high priest of her own temple-clan, taking his life without a moment’s regret.

In furious grief, Sulahn’nehn raised her own sword, an ornate hilt that quickly burst into a long beam of hard light. She fade-stepped to the goddess, cloaking herself quickly into invulnerability and casting a fire mine beneath Andruil before beginning her barrage. The goddess matched her blows with her own sword, the harsh white light hissing against the corrupted blade, melting it a little with each meeting.

It had been so long since she had fought like this. She could not help but enjoy the opportunity to use her powers in full force for the first time in years. She nevertheless tried to quell her pleasure, knowing the love of power had brought the warring gods to this point in the first place. Violence was sometimes necessary, as she learned over the years, her pacifist faith slowly slipping from her as she battled dragons, corrupted templars and Wardens to protect the people of Thedas, but the enjoyment of it was little more than a base, animalistic instinct, one she desired to rise above. She could be a better person than these proud, vindictive, vengeful gods, in her own inadvertent new divinity.

As she fought, she felt her light growing inadvertently. Somehow, Andruil’s intensely blighted presence made her own blight-resistant celestial magic stronger. Her spirit blade began to grow longer with each hit against the corrupted armor, becoming a massive greatsword, nearly a pike, its weightless blade extending her reach by more than six feet.

She noticed Andruil’s power weakening in the immediate presence of the white lyrium; the goddess avoided the embellishments on the walls and stairs as much as possible, as each touch against the substance made her armor hiss and dent like a freshly beaten sword placed in water. She used it to her advantage, advancing powerfully until Andruil was forced up the stairs toward the Pantheon itself. The blighted goddess stood in the doorway, resisting her entrance, her face contorted in pain. Sulahn’nehn forced her into the shining temple with one great kick.

Andruil lay crumpled on the floor, paralyzed, staring up at the ceiling. The massive amount of white lyrium shining down at them had rendered her immobile. Sulahn’nehn took the initiative, remembering the fennec’s training, remembering her own song-magic that she had used in combat until the ancient, mighty techniques of the Knight Enchanter captivated her attention. As she raised her sword, she began to sing the song of lyrium. Andruil languished unmoving, wide-eyed in silent shock, as the light of the ceiling increased to a blinding glare and the beams that crossed each other shone straight down into the room towards the two warring gods.

Sulahn’nehn absorbed the light from her great temple ceiling and raised her sword high to meet it, her voice still echoing through the temple. The vast room seemed to become smaller in her vision, Andruil a tiny figure far beneath her. She plunged her divine sword of judgement downward into Andruil’s blight-blackened heart. The goddess gave one great, strangled cry, her solid form suddenly glowing and bursting into black ash, leaving nothing but an armor of red lyrium in a pile of dust on the floor as the room seemingly shrank again and Sulahn’nehn stood alone, victorious.

She stumbled out of the temple, exhausted, to the welcome sight of the Dalish elves who had blocked her path now milling about freely, their free will restored in the destruction of the holder of their magical leashes. Fen’Harel ran up the stairs towards her, his brow furrowed with concern as his dark mane streamed behind him in the wind. She smiled at him weakly. “It is done,” she said hoarsely. “Andruil is vanquished. We are safe.” He gave a great sigh, looking at the sky before turning to her with a proud smile. “This brings me more relief than you can possibly know, vhenan. Andruil was the instigator of the war between my people. She brought the Blight upon us. We tried to vanquish her before, and failed.” She nodded at him; she had seen as much in Judex’s ancient memories. The fennec would have been proud, too. He sighed again, his eyes wincing in sorrowful memory. “She has tormented me personally for millennia out of jealous desire. I am truly glad to be rid of her existence.”

They celebrated her victory with a great feast, Fen’Harel lovingly feeding her morsels of delicious marinated druffalo steak at her side. She could not truly rejoice, though her halls were filled that night with drunken revelry. The harrowing loss of her brother had numbed her joy. She had never had the opportunity to repair their relationship before he sacrificed himself so nobly in her defense. Her allies sent word of their gratitude, urging her to continue to reduce the warring pantheon’s numbers before Tevinter was entirely destroyed. She waited for days in her reluctance to respond; attacking the gods directly would easily spur their communal wrath, and few of them were as foolhardy as Andruil. She could not pick them off individually as easily as she had executed the blight-mad goddess. She was glad for her recalcitrance after a week had passed, when the worried gods came to Atish’an.

She bade them to meet her inside the Pantheon, where she knew they were powerless. The three of them stood in the center of the great temple, staring in frowning confusion at the alcoves that filled the quickly evacuated hall, and Fen’Harel’s sudden head of hair: Ghilan’nain, Dirthamen and Falon’Din. Ghilan’nain was the first to speak, her voice deep with worry, her bald head shining in the temple’s light. “Child and ally, we come for your aid. Our sister Andruil has disappeared. We worry that she has returned to the Void.” Sulahn’nehn smirked, unafraid. She was adept at curing the Blight, now; these gods posed no threat to her now, gathered as they were.

“My friends. Andruil attacked my lands, against our agreement. I have vanquished her,” she said calmly. The gods reacted in sudden fury; Falon’Din began to stalk towards her, his eyes aglow and great staff raised.

Quickly, she began to sing the song of lyrium again, louder than ever as she sang straight to the ceiling and the temple once again began to shimmer with light. She raised her staff high, focusing her beam directly at the great spire that rose directly above the gathered gods; the beam met the spire and fractured into a billion sharp points that radiated into the bodies of the stricken, suddenly paralyzed ancient beings.

She sang ever louder, focusing her great will into filling the entire room with healing light. The vast, round room echoed with her voice, joining her in an unearthly canon. Finally, she stopped singing, allowing the light to penetrate the blighted gods as they stood in awe, gazing up at the blinding light.

The three blighted gods stood invigorated, their dark scars and veins removed by her healing power. They stared at her in an awed daze. Dirthamen spoke, stammering with wonder. “How did you… What did you… What are you?”

She smiled slyly at his stupefaction. Dirthamen, keeper of secrets, was not privy to this secret of hers, even as she displayed it blatantly in front of him. “Is it not obvious, hahren? I was blessed with the divine light of the constellation Judex. I am one of you.”

The three gods looked at each other in shock, turning to her and collectively bowing deeply, an entirely unexpected gesture of respect from these proud gods. Had their madness left them, with the Blight? Fen’Harel beamed at her quietly from behind them.

The gods returned to Arlathan in peace, after Sulahn’nehn proudly showed the placated, peaceful deities the wonders of her great empire. To her ecstasy, the gods proclaimed the Elven school in dire need of their assistance, promising to return to Atish’an to teach her people their lost arts. These three gods held some of the greatest blessings revered by her people, and their aid would be truly invaluable to her.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sulahn'nehn goes to Arlathan to try to cure the whole city of the Blight, but Sylaise stops her with her own mother in tow. Boss battle time!
> 
> After her victory, Fen'Harel surprises her with something adorable...

Sylaise and Elgarn’an remained blighted and vengeful, the loving Mythal ever on the side of her ancient companion at his divine throne. June remained in her Arcanum, peacefully teaching her people his wondrous crafts and enchanting magic in his own strange way.

Complacent in her bloodless victory over three more of the blighted gods, Sulahn’nehn turned to the conundrum of healing the blight and madness of the entire city of Arlathan, which slowly spread its corruption to the lands around it with each passing day. Fen’Harel’s wisdom was invaluable to her, as always; he helped her to develop a strategy to envelop the entire ancient city in her holy light and song, suggesting the use of a dormant Eluvian to reflect and focus her light.

She made her way together with her lover to Arlathan through the Eluvians unaccompanied, under a shroud of secrecy; only her inner circle knew of her plans. The Crossroads had blossomed into vivid color in the return of the elves, a gleaming, lush world where they moved fleetingly past the many other traveling elves, untiring. They reached the ancient city quickly, which had grown sorely darkened and blackened in eternal shadow by its plague in the time since she had first seen it. Fen’Harel began to lead her to the dormant shining mirror he spoke of. Amid the throngs of ancient elves that now congregated in the soothingly normal hustle and bustle of the city, those with Sylaise’s vallaslin regarded her suspiciously, darting away.

As they arrived at the unused Eluvian, a lone shining beacon of reflective light atop a small, squat building in the city’s center, they were interrupted by the proud, regal entrance of Sylaise, relaxed on a great hovering throne inside a ball of veilfire that hovered far over a group of singing priestesses, accompanied by a bevy of softly humming slaves. Beside her, singing softly, proudly brandishing the ancient staff Dal’Sulahn which her blood-clan had carefully protected for centuries, stood her mother Atisha, her beautiful red hair shorn to baldness.

She could not fight her own mother. Instead, she began to sing the song of lyrium as she had before, as loudly as she could in the face of the now loudly singing group of elven slaves. It had been easier in the Pantheon, where the white lyrium filled her with power and the round room amplified her voice to an echo. She had only the purified lyrium laced through her Blight-resistant dragonbone battlemage armor and woman-shaped Staff of the Void to boost her magic.

Her voice was quickly drowned out by the resonant alto of her mother’s own song, a voice that had sung her to sleep as a child. The song of lyrium barely registered in the air even as Sulahn’nehn strained to sing as loudly as she could. Her mother sang a powerful song of suppression, causing the song of lyrium to stick in her throat as Sulahn’nehn gasped in agony, unable to raise her voice further.

Her mother’s song grew ever louder, resonating throughout the city. Her power was boosted by an ancient artifact created by Sylaise herself so long ago. The ancient, woman-shaped fiery staff Dal’Sulahn, which her mother now held with scornful pride, was created to amplify the voices of the high priestesses through the heavens themselves to proclaim and boost Sylaise’s might.

As a child, she envied those who were permitted to clean the great, mystical staff. No one ever used it. It was kept in the aravel of her clan’s aging, ailing Keeper, carefully wrapped in magically fire-resistant red silks. It was the reason her blood-clan gave away its scant few children every ten years; they could not bear to part with it at the Arlath’vehns, in fear of the ignorant misusing its divine power. They guarded it jealously, and those who snuck in to peek at it were severely punished, their skin pelted with burns as they screamed before they were quickly healed as the Keeper continued to admonish them.

She had only seen it once, when her mother, the First of their clan, was ill. She sent her to clean the staff carefully in her stead, leaving her with a strict stream of instructions for the correct ritual, along with harsh words of foreboding for what would come if she failed any of the tasks. It was so beautiful, made of white dragonbone with flames of veilfire gently hovering around the naked woman at its head, and so obviously powerful, nothing like any of the meager trinkets in her life, especially her own shabby wooden staff. To her dismay, the many rituals together only took five minutes to complete, and the Keeper quickly ushered her out of his aravel to never see the staff again.

Its fleeting beauty inspired her to endlessly daydream of the imagined glories of Arlathan, of which she knew so little, creating fantasies in her head of the lives of the gods as she weaved dresses to fit her imagination. She especially dreamed of Sylaise, who she imagined as a kind, loving goddess, gracious to her people, so different from the scornful goddess who stood before her now.

As the Inquisitor, she discovered its meager likeness to her delight in the magically decaying body of the dragon Hivernal, a staff of electricity rather than fire that was shaped so similarly to the ancient staff, and so powerful, though it still paled in comparison to her memories. It glowed now with white light, her Judex-granted new magic surging through any staff she chose, overriding their weaker enchantments. But her Staff of the Void could do little in the face of the great magic her mother now held, as Sylaise watched the proud mother attack her own child from her hovering throne, smirking.

She could not bear to retaliate, even as her mother began to pelt her with great fireballs, still so much weaker than the powers Sulahn’nehn had come into as Inquisitor and Judex’s champion. She stood miserably, her armor absorbing the blows even as the burning orbs melted away her carefully regrown red hair to her chin.

Fen’Harel finally fought through the lesser priestesses of Sylaise, their eyes aglow in enthralled fury, to come to her defense. Before he could reach her mother, Sylaise jumped down from her throne, raising her staff to quickly conjure a fire mine that instantly exploded under his feet. Sulahn’nehn watched in horror as her lover fell to his feet burning.

Her mother used her distraction to her own initiative, jumping closer to place her own fire mine underneath her child and pelt her with ever more fireballs as the empress simply weakened and sobbed. Her mother’s mine took longer to activate, and it sent Sulahn’nehn crashing to her back with a whimper as her mother stood over her, staff poised to kill her.

Her defensive instinct took over before her own reproachful mind could prevent it. As her mother’s face cackled over her, so corrupted by Sylaise but still so strangely like herself, she found herself raising the hilt of her own sword as its blade began to extend itself straight into her mother’s heart. Both Sulahn’nehn and Atisha screamed, staring at the wound, as Sulahn’nehn retracted the blade back into the hilt, causing hot blood to spray out onto her face, into her mouth and eyes. Her mother stood stricken in agony, blood that had warmed her in the womb pooling around Sulahn’nehn and running down her face as she dropped her staff and fell to her knees, slowly slumping into an unmoving mass.

Sulahn’nehn stared at her mother’s dying body in abject shock as Fen’Harel screamed behind her, urgently. “Now, vhenan! You must do it now!” She turned to see Sylaise standing over his burned body with her own staff raised, smiling, ready to finally kill him.

She grabbed her mother’s staff and ran towards the Eluvian. With the staff, the Eluvian was almost unnecessary now in her quest to spread the healing magic Judex blessed her with, for it would surely amplify the song of lyrium to the heavens if she used it.

Before Sylaise could reach her, she raised the divine staff Dal’Sulahn, its former flame-kissed naked ornament now shining with holy white light. She began to sing again as she focused her will into the mighty staff, undeniably more powerful than her own, and forced her light towards the mirrored surface of the Eluvian.

The light radiated into the mirror and emanated back out brighter, its brilliant beams kissing the darkness of the blighted city. She maintained the light and focused now on the song, the staff allowing her to sing more loudly and resonantly as she ever had before, her voice soaring out throughout Arlathan, past its bounds into the Tevinter lands surrounding it. Far away, people stood in wonder at the beautiful, unearthly noise that seemed to have no source.

The light continued to grow as the song melded with it, shimmering through the streets and into the heart of every ancient elf. It became a great shining dome of protection over Arlathan, wisps of healing light radiating downward into every inch of the blighted city.

As she turned to see if Fen’Harel was all right, she noticed he was so much smaller, a blip standing beside Sylaise who now kneeled staring at the sky in wordless penance. Had he shrunk, or had she grown?

Her body felt uncomfortable now in its standing state, and her hands fell to the floor, padding easily on her four great legs as she began to walk through the tiny streets of Arlathan towards the great Temple of Elgar’nan under a determined but alien compulsion. She suddenly felt so peaceful.

The temple had somehow shrunk to nearly her own size. She bowed her head to enter, her tail flicking shut the door. In the temple’s inner chamber, Elgar’nan sat on his massive throne looking bored amid the sorrowful-looking pantheon, the missing presence of Andruil, June, Sylaise and Fen’Harel sorely betrayed by their great empty thrones. He sat up in shock as she entered.

“What is the meaning of this? Who comes?” he demanded. She stepped forward, blessing the dark, cramped, ugly temple with her great light. As Elgar’nan stood, distracted, Fen’Harel walked over to Mythal, urgently whispering to her in a low voice. Though Sulahn’nehn could not hear him even as she strained with her great, pointed ears, her keen eyes saw Mythal quietly nod and leave in the shadows, and Sylaise furtively enter in fear, unnoticed by all but her.

She ignored the other cowering gods, walking straight to Elgarn’an high above them on his great throne until her great, soft nose touched his. She began to snarl softly. He stared at her paralyzed in fear as she stared back into his pale blue eyes.

Here sat the great All-Father, the God of Vengeance who threw his own father, Solium, the Sun, down into the sky deep into the bosom of his grieving mother Thedas. Here was the first transgressor, who presumed to harm one of the great celestial beings that truly governed the skies.

Judex had chosen her as its champion to bring judgement upon the self-proclaimed elven gods who had wronged them most in their vengeful pride. The Blight had cured him now, but no divine light could cure his sins.

As Elgar’nan stared at her in wordless terror, she opened her maw wide, shining rows of jagged teeth lining her great glowing tongue. She grew ever larger as she hungrily lunged down at Elgar’nan, compulsively taking the tiny, ancient, great god into her massive jaws with a single swallow.

She sat back, satiated. Suddenly, her light began to flow upward and away from her, the cramped little chamber swiftly growing once again into a vast, empty hall.

Sulahn’nehn gazed up in exhaustion at the beam of light that rose high into the sky above her. In all its brilliant glory, it was peculiar how much it resembled a sword.

She was still kneeling on the floor when she felt Fen’Harel’s hand on her shoulder.

“Your fennec form is impressive, ma vhenan,” he smiled softly as she looked up at him in confusion. Fennec form? She had been compelled to walk on four legs, to her embarrassment, and the world had seemed so strangely tiny in her vision, but she did not realize her form had changed. She had been so strangely focused, so determined, as though she were under a geas like the Well of Sorrows.

The other, formerly fearful gods had left their thrones, and begun to approach her. They surrounded her, bowing, even Sylaise. They stood staring at her with grave respect until Sylaise finally spoke.

“Sweet young goddess, Ir abelas. I grieve with deepest sorrow for your greatest loss at my foolish hands. In my blighted madness, I forsake my own path. We do not wish to incur your great wrath any further. We submit to your power, and atone for our actions. Will you forgive us, my sister? Will you forgive me?” Sulahn’nehn’s green eyes opened wide in surprise as Sylaise kneeled at her feet, kissing the ground by the bare toes of her elven dragonbone leg-armor.

Her humble repentance was almost good enough, but Sulahn’nehn could never bring herself to love her goddess as she once had, not again. Not as the agonizing memory of her mother’s hot red blood filling her vision still filled her with horror, not while she could still taste the sour iron of the blood that ran through her own veins that had splashed in her face through her own vengeance.

Her mother’s death was her burden to eternally bear, but Sylaise had driven her to this. The goddess her family had dedicated themselves to had single handedly wrecked them all. Save Enasal, whose swift death lay in the hands of Andruil. So much death and grief marred her joy in victory now.

“My sweet sister Sylaise,” she began, in a courtly, polite voice that betrayed none of her bitterness.  
“I do not wish for more bloodshed in your beautiful lands. I have come and taken what was mine to judge. Elgar’nan was the First Transgressor, and the constellation Judex have taken him back to their great celestial courtrooms to judge him themselves. I will leave you in peace, and return to my lands.”

She bowed to the gathered gods and turned to leave, still exhausted from her magical efforts. Behind her stood Mythal, still so much like Morrigan, accompanied by June, in the body of the boy Sandal. Mythal blocked her path, shaking her head.

“My brother was the first of us to awaken. His spirit spent much time wasting away in the Deep Roads. He is trapped in the body of this dwarf, and its resistance to magic has rendered him nearly powerless and mute. We must help him, before you return. In Arlathan lies his original body, safe in uthenera. We can awaken him once again, and bring him back to us restored.”

Sulahn’nehn quickly set off towards the Temple of June where his body lay, led by Mythal, while Fen’Harel and Sandal trailed behind together. But as they walked, she could not help but feel unsure of their quest.

The god in the body of a boy had seemed so happy in Atish’an. Enchanting was what he loved best, and he was truly the greatest in the land at the arduous trade; he spent the the past few months endlessly practicing at her many arcane instruments to the wonder of her students who carefully observed. He wanted for nothing. Surely it was an offense to take from him the world as he had grown to understand it, simply because others rejected the simpleness of his poor entrenched spirit?

As they walked, she noticed Cole had already joined them, unnoticed as ever. He only allowed others to see him when he wished it, a power she often envied. She moved closer to him to see why he came, walking quietly to avoid interrupting him as he spoke to the dwarven boy.

“It’s all right. It’ll be over soon. We’re nearly there now. We’re all here to make sure that you get better.” He was here to comfort Sandal. Perhaps the spirit of compassion had spent more time than she knew in the happy city of Atish’an.

“Enchantment,” said the dwarf, sorrowfully. Cole shook his head, the only one who could understand this poor trapped soul.

“Don’t be afraid. It’s not going to hurt.”

She did feel terrible for his plight. A noble ancient elven soul, lost in the darkness of the Deep Roads, searching out the first life form that would accept its gift to find it was a dwarf.

Dwarves suppressed magic naturally, a gift that allowed them to touch and transport regular lyrium; she employed so many of them in her lyrium-rich empire now, merchant surface dwarves and formerly Thaig-dwelling commoners and beggars alike, though white lyrium was tolerable and non-addictive to all races, save the Blighted. His powers had been great enough to seep through his dwarven body and allow him to enchant at will and create great explosions on occasion, at the cost of being able to communicate with others.

“Cole,” she turned to ask her blond spirit friend, remembering his great abilities. “Could you help our friend June speak to us, through you?” Cole nodded, turning to look at Sandal who simply smiled gently with his head curiously tilted. When his face turned back to her, he looked so sad.

“He wakes, watches, weakens, waits, and is worsted in the dark. His spirit shimmers steadily solid, shining, sorrowful. He searches serenely through the shadows and finds a savior. Sandal. Steeled against his sorcery. He struggles, studies, a spell suddenly surprises. Enchantment. It is a revelation that gives him a single word to speak. Enchantment. His second savior searches, seeking a son. Bodahn. He guides his new father to lands where he can help.”

Sandal stood and nodded dopily as Cole continued with a serious expression, pacing.  
“He helps the Warden fight the blight. Enchantment. He helps the Champion in his rise. Enchantment. He guides his father to his own temple-clan, and they are small, they suffer, they scorn, they are scared of his power. They sequester him to Sulahn’nehn, so sweet, so smart. She will sympathize. She will save him from this Sandal.”

Sulahn’nehn nodded silently along as Cole spoke, almost in unison with the continually nodding Sandal as she came to understand his inner struggles. June’s life after his awakening was so tragic. They would be able to help him soon, though she did not know how.

They soon came to an especially ornate temple, dedicated to June and his fine craftsmanship. Though there were many temple elves inside, they were not as proud and determined in their duties as Elgarn’nan’s. They casually observed the small group as they walked through to the inner chamber with abject boredom as they worked.

Mythal turned, momentarily hesitant to allow Sulahn’nehn to witness the awakening of a god, after finally ending her consideration with a proud smile as they entered the inner sanctum of June’s temple. Cole had already vanished, her sweet transient spirit friend ever seeking out new sorrows to comfort.

The room was glorious, glowing with runes throughout. On a great, bed like dais in front of a small, ornate throne slept a short bald man, swaddled in white.

Beside her, Mythal and Fen’Harel suddenly shifted form, affecting their divine aspects, though smaller than either of them had presented themselves in the past. Following their lead, she, too focused on the memory of her sweet fennec, her hands falling to the floor again as she gazed at June in wonder. The gods approached him lovingly; Fen’Harel bowed his head to touch June with his great nose as Mythal’s scaled tail wrapped itself around the sleeping god tenderly.

Mythal had bowed her great dragon head by June’s sleeping face as Sandal watched in wonder. Sandal! What would happen to this sweet boy if his spirit was returned to a god? She had to make sure they were making the right choice, even if the gods wanted one of their friends restored.

She opened her strange long mouth, and the words flowed from her without need of adjusting to this tongue. “What will happen to the boy Sandal, after June’s spirit has departed? Will he be safe?”

Fen’Harel turned to look at her softly, and shook his great, furry head in sorrow. “Ma vhenan, the durgen’len’s own spirit passed long ago.”

She looked to the great rune-set floor in dejected defeat as Mythal’s draconic head kissed her old friend and the room suddenly shone with a great light, the ambient song of lyrium she could now always her growing ever louder in the light’s wake. Finally, June opened his eyes, sitting up slowly and looking directly at her.

“I will not forget your kindness, da’len. You have always treated me with gracious respect in the face of so many others. I will return with you to Atish’an, to continue to live in your wondrous Arcanum, for I have found great solace and comfort there.”

She smiled, returning to her small, slender human form once again, running to her new friend and delivering a warm embrace. Sandal had been such a kind soul, even in his sad difficulties. June was truly a wonderful person, one she had always admired, one who finally proved himself to measure up to her lifelong expectations.

Before returning to New Elvhenan, they first returned to the vanquished Elgar’nan’s former throne room where the gods still sat in deep discussion. The gods ran from their thrones gracefully over to their brother June, rapturous in joy, and embraced him in a huddle, regaling him with their relief as he smiled.

They eventually turned their attention to Sulahn’nehn, who stood hesitantly in the midst of these fabled divine beings she knew so little, save her Fen’lath. Mythal began to speak to her gravely.

“My sister, we are forever in your debt. Though you have caused us grief in the loss of our dearest brother and sister, we understand and forgive. Long ago, I feebly attempted to amend my lover Elgarn’nan’s foolish wrongs in the face of his jealous wrath against our Maker.”

Mythal continued sorrowfully. Morrigan’s familiar face was forever changed into a serene expression of guilt. “I tried to vanquish Andruil with all my might, and she murdered my sleeping body in callous revenge. I cannot hold you accountable for their deaths, for their sins and their punishments came as a result of their own proud artifice, beloved as they were to us all. You have achieved what we could not.”

Sulahn’nehn stood in silent wonder as Mythal addressed her. Here she stood, in the midst of the gods she had worshipped all her elven life, and they now saw her as an equal. She had never in her wildest dreams imagined herself in such a situation. Even in her childhood fantasies, she had been little but a slave to Sylaise.

The dragon goddess gestured to Elgar’nan’s tall, vacant throne. “Our harbinger awaits the judgement of the stars, and has left us under your mighty will. We stand without direction, and fruitlessly squabble as we grieve. Our great city flounders without a commander. We submit to your great wisdom. Will you lead our mighty Pantheon, sweet Sulahn’nehn?

She was utterly dumbfounded at the goddess’s words. Had Mythal herself truly just offered to make her the leader of the ancient elven pantheon? It was an absurd notion. Sulahn’nehn was still too much of a person, too damaged by her many painful experiences to lead her people through example as such a god must, even if she had eaten the fennec’s fruit. She did not deserve such an honor. But she knew who did.

“My hahren, my… sister. I cannot accept such a burden in good faith. I am not entitled to such a great honor, flawed as I am. I am far too young and impetuous, though I have come in to great power in recent years. I do not possess the great wisdom of the ages that you all enjoy. I have never even entered uthenera. I, myself, submit to the great and cunning wisdom of Fen’Harel, without whom I would not be standing in your presence.”

She turned to look at her lover, who gazed at her sadly. “Ma vhenan, my heart is yours to command. I will take this post as soon as you ask it of me. The burdens of this task would require me to remain in Arlathan, my beloved home. But my truest desire is to remain in Atish’an, ever by your side.”

She gazed at him lovingly. She had offered him the greatest of all powers, the opportunity to take Elgarn’nan’s place as the mightiest of all the elven deities, and he had spurned it for her sake. She gave him the chance to leave, and he chose to stay, against her fearful expectations. She began to smile at him as he returned her loving gaze, understanding all too well her own reluctance to be separated from his arms again.

“I, too, would prefer you by my side, Fen’lath,” she murmured. She turned back to the gods, gazing at each of them as she remembered how they had been before: scornful, proud, cruel. The blight had only intensified their true natures, subdued and congenial as they had become in their recovery. She could never trust them again.

Only June and Mythal remained high in her esteem. June had spent his many captive years overcoming his plight to help the world in his own way, though he now stood weakened from his long slumber. He, too, would have rejected the post in Arlathan, given his desire to return to his enchantments.

Mythal had helped the world for centuries. Her people had known her as Asha’Bellanar, the ancient lady who aided the elves in so many recent tales, never realizing a goddess walked among them. Mythal had been the only goddess to come to her people’s direct aid in their slow degradation. She was the only one left worthy of the title who would accept it. Sulah’nehn raised her voice confidently.

“Mythal, All-Mother, I submit to your kindness. You alone among our brethren took it upon yourself to help my people directly, even in your weakness of spirit. You remain as just, kind, protective and wise as your legends foretell. I beg you to take this honor, and guide us and our people in your ancient wisdom.”

Mythal considered her words carefully, her face unreadable. Morrigan had always been difficult to read, though no element of her familiarly ascerbic personality remained, her spirit quelled by her mother’s great will.

“Ma nuvenin, Sulahn’nehn, bringer of the song of joy. I will lead the city and pantheon of Arlathan in your stead. But I must entreat to you further: we do not have the resources we once enjoyed in our time of glory, and our ancient empire continues to flounder in its awakening and bloody spread. The new city of Suledin already fills with rank and decay. We cannot survive alone in this strange new world. We must all submit to your glory. Arlathan will join your great empire, if you will have us.”

Sulahn’nehn stood, silent, and slowly nodded. It was too good to be true. For a fleeting moment, she wondered if she was asleep, dreaming in the Fade again, misled by the seductive power of some imaginative demon.

Arlathan, the beautiful capital of ancient Elvhenan, the mystical, lost land of her people that her mother and Keepers had told captivating stories about while her child-self gazed into a flickering hearth. Hers. A part of her own free empire, a land she had carefully built in its imagined image. The actual capital city of Elvhenan, ultimately hers to command, the legendary goddess Mythal as her willing and helpful regent. It had not been long since she reacted in disbelief at its glittering, palpable existence.

She could make the glorious city better than it had ever been, under her laws. Arlathan still stank of slavery. She would abolish it once and for all, free the temple slaves, force the gods to remove the vallaslin of their own followers. This had been Fen’Harel’s dream, as he spoke to her so longingly of the glories of Arlathan that had been marred by slavery’s cruel bounds. She could give her love no greater gift.

Sulahn’nehn smiled broadly at the ancient goddess of justice and walked swiftly closer, pulling Mythal into a surprised embrace. She quickly stepped back to break from her impertinent display of affection. She spoke to the pantheon with happiness and caution emanating from her sweet young voice.  
“I welcome you all into my empire, as my citizens. Andaran atish’an. But you must abide by my laws if you wish to remain. I abhor any presence of slavery or subjugation in my lands. I will send you many resources in aid, after the vallaslins no longer remain on the faces of your followers. ”

Her voice was powerful, echoing gracefully through Elgarn’an’s dark temple. “You may not hold yourself as nobility above my free and equal people, but you may seek out positions of great influence as your talents and efforts allow. Your people are, likewise, free to seek employment within my borders in the South.”

The gods looked at each other, stunned; finally, they looked to Mythal, who glared and nodded at them slowly. They bowed to her again reluctantly.

She finally drew them a new map, one that showed the borders that came closest to her lands, with her every city, known Eluvian and settlement in rich detail. They pored over it in wonder, pointing out familiar elements that had changed. They began to speak excitedly of the densely forested Emerald Graves, so similar now in her detailed, vivid illustration to the Arlathan Forest’s climate two millennia ago.

After a solemn ceremony where the gods raised Mythal high onto the great, central throne above them, Sulahn’nehn bade her farewells to her newly accepting group of adoptive divine family members as June and Fen’Harel patiently waited for her outside the temple.

They returned as quickly as ever to Atish’an, June regaling Sulahn’nehn with forgotten stories of her own childhood. Bodahn and Sandal had frequently visited clan Vehn’durgen as she sang endlessly of June’s blessings, the dutiful clan dirthenera. He had remembered everything, and his experience had been truly tragic; even out of the citizens of peaceful Atish’an itself, he began to list those who had cruelly wronged him in the belief that he could not betray their violence, and she promised to bring swift justice to these cruel souls, who did not belong amid her gentle empire.

To her great delight, as they walked through the lush green Crossroads towards Atish’an where her Eluvian now lay, June himself claimed to be impressed by her craftsmanship. He spoke wondrously of the efficiency of her building designs, her skillful use of interior space, how the angles of the arches were uniquely supportive while so delicate in appearance.

He was especially impressed by her discovery and skillful use of white lyrium, a substance new to even the powerful ancient elves. He offered to aid her in making her lyrium-refining methods even more efficient, for the glory of the empire. She had worked so hard to design the city of her dreams, and she was glad that she had made a new friend in the God of Craft, the one who would surely appreciate her careful efforts most above all.

He even praised her invented gown schematic, which he had only seen in the form of the dwarf Sandal as she now stalked towards her city in her armor. He mentioned a similar schematic he had created for Sylaise long ago, and offered to teach her to duplicate and modify it, to her ecstatic joy as she unabashedly hugged him to Fen’Harel’s amused smile.

When they arrived in a small lyrium-lit chamber in the Atish’an Arcanum, where Sulahn’nehn had carefully moved her Eluvian, June bid them a swift farewell, returning with a bouncing joy in his step to his old chamber upstairs. He had always been so happy here. Now he would stay in her empire, the first ancient god to become her citizen. His ability to communicate and his magic were restored, and he would teach her people of all of his mysterious blessings.

Sulahn’nehn was overjoyed beyond belief at the day’s successes. The ancient gods had bowed to her might, and she only had to kill the two Judex had marked for judgement to save them all. She had not expected to stand victorious over the entire elven pantheon when she left to heal the city of the blight. The cured gods had their reason and wisdom restored. Sylaise had apologized to her, an even more shocking admission than Enasal’s apology so long ago.

Enasal, sweet Enasal, who died in her own defense as Andruil advanced towards her priest so coldly. She never had the opportunity to meet him privately after they made amends. Now he was gone, at Andruil’s hand.

At least that had been Andruil’s fault. Sulahn’nehn stood shocked by her sudden memory, her joy dissipating into anguish as she remembered her mother’s shocked face as her spirit blade extended itself against her will into her bosom. The bosom that had cradled her as a babe. She remembered the blood that violently spurted from the wound as she retracted her blade in panic, her mother’s shrill scream joining her own. The metallic, hot liquid seeping into her lips as she screamed again and fought to remove it. The opaque red specks that had momentarily blocked her vision that she gazed in horror at her mother’s fading life.

She stood frozen, her arms tucked into herself tightly, her head bowed deeply into her own chest in pain. They stood outside the Arcanum, and the summer sunlight streamed in gloriously to the city she had missed even amid the beauty of Arlathan, but its familiar loveliness could not distract her now from her grief.

Fen’Harel came swiftly to her solace, pulling her small, shaking form lovingly into his arms and holding her quietly. She slowly relaxed a little, still shaking in grief, sliding her arms up around his neck to rest her head tightly against his comforting chest.

“I lost my whole family, thanks to these gods,” she whispered bitterly into his arms.

He began to stroke her hair. “Your family never loved you as you deserve, ma vhenan. It is time to begin anew. You must now make your own family. You have many friends here who love you. You have me.”

She looked up at him sadly, the man she so adored. His steely blue eyes gazed down at her earnestly. His murmurs were so reminiscent of the soothing words she had uttered to Dorian months ago. She had meant those words so passionately, then. She could not deny his honesty. She closed her eyes and kissed him, allowing her grief to melt into his arms as she tried her best to repress the painful memories, something she had become so adept at in recent years.

He pulled away and smiled down at her slyly, stroking her face. “Come with me, vhenan. I have an urgent inquiry that requires your attention.” What now? Surely the war against the gods was well and truly over?

He led her to the great waterfall by the palace, its lush banks laden with embrium and arbor blessing. She had a magnificent view of the falls from her balcony, but rarely visited it in person, though she spent many nights relaxing by its gentle hum in the Fade. She gazed at it now in peaceful wonder, focusing on the beautiful arcs of prismatic light bouncing from the magically warmed water to escape her recent turmoils.

Why had her Fen’lath brought her here? The waterfall stood in the gardens of the palace, and nothing of use surrounded it. No urgent steps interrupted their quiet intimacy. She was glad, though; the waterfall eased her grieving mind, as she remembered all that she had struggled through before she could create this magically melted waterfall by her shining new palace, remembered all she fought for to create her beloved empire.

She turned to Fen’Harel to inquire as to his needs when she suddenly stopped, her mouth wordlessly agape in joy. He had fallen to one knee. He looked up at her lovingly, earnestly, as he held out in his hand a delicate, familiar ring of dark sylvanwood adorned with wolves.

The Dalish had passed down the tradition of crafting these rings, over the years. As Keepers ailed, close to death, their Firsts ventured out into the woods to retrieve a small sylvanwood bark. The elves carved carefully under their Keeper’s feeble supervision, their final task as First, whittling the wood into a ring that would remind them of their duties.

Her mother had begun to carve one, as clan Atish’an’s Keeper ailed at the Arlath’vehn and Sulahn’nehn was forced to leave. She whittled wolves into the dark wood to symbolize Fen’Harel, for the Dalish believed the wolf god a betrayer, the rebellious trickster who ended their glorious ancient empire. The sylvanwood ring reminded them to protect their clans forever from the wolf’s treachery in their new role as Keeper.

She suppressed her desire to laugh in his face at the irony of it as she beamed at her love. She kneeled down until her lips met his sweet, chiseled, handsome face.

He gazed at her seriously, stroking her cheek. “Will you be my partner in eternity, ma vhenan?”

“Ma nuvenin, Fen’lath,” she whispered passionately into his delicate, pointed ear as he slid the ancient ring onto a finger of her formerly marked hand. “Ar lath ma.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to thank Staleina for her help in writing this chapter. We had a discussion that made its way into the narrative. I was torn whether to heal Sandal or not- is it right? Is it offensive to the disabled of this world, who I respect? He really did seem so happy. But it worked out with the lore, and I hope you all see the character as a unique spirit in unique circumstances, because I really didn't mean for this part to hurt anyone. I REALLY love Sandal's character and I wanted him (and the gods) to have some form of a happy ending after all that time.


	8. Epilogue

They married a month later in the Pantheon, in a grand ceremony attended by all the nobles of Thedas. Sulahn’nehn cared much more for the blessed presence of her entire inner circle of friends, for as disparately as she had spread their talents through the empire she had come to miss them all. Varric and Cassandra laughed together at Cullen’s jokes as a pretty, red headed young elven mage smiled lovingly up at him. Rainier was speaking nervously to Vivienne, who haughtily ignored his attempts. Even Scout Harding had come to see the proceedings, armored heavily in her general’s uniform.

Leliana sat attended by her aides in an ornate Chantry uniform as she smiled at her proudly. Dorian and Iron Bull had made their close relationship a concrete, public affair, and held hands proudly, murmuring to each other as they awaited her glorious entrance. Sera stood with Briala and Dagna, the three great friends whispering and giggling privately.

Sulahn’nehn entered the shining temple at the arm of Mythal, the kind goddess who had come to become a surrogate mother to her in her grief. She walked proudly barefoot in a fine, delicate gown of white lyrium, a gift from June, shining as she stepped, her long, gleaming gossamer skirt trailing far down the steps even as she walked further into the temple. Her silky crimson hair was curled and entwined with flowers delicately sculpted to shining likeness from her blessed substance. A shining diadem lay atop her brow, announcing her position to all.

She had noticed her friends first, but her attention was soon captivated by the impatient stance of her eternal love. He stood alone by her own great new alcove, the most laden with favors of all the alcoves that dotted the vast temple aside from his own. His long black hair shone under the light of the great ceiling; he looked handsome and resplendent in a shining, silky suit wholly woven from white lyrium. He was glorious.

Mythal officiated the elven ceremony, declaring the two divine beings eternally joined as they passionately kissed in public, unabashed. Sulahn’nehn heard the clapping and cheering of her friends even as she focused her attentions on her sweet, loving Fen’lath’s soft lips.

As Mythal’s rituals grew to an end, the temple was filled with unearthly beauty as the free and grateful spirits of her empire lovingly gave Sulahn’nehn her wedding gift without need of help from any dirthenera. They sang a fractured segment of “In Uthenera na Revas”, in eternal sleep is freedom, a song the temple slaves once sang to their masters as they drifted into the extended dream of uthenera.

They focused on that one small part of the ancient song, joining each other in canon. A crab canon, for the many spirits joined each other in a manner that was complimentary and contradictory, some reversing the song’s melody to unearthly effect. They sang the part of the song meant for those left behind as their elders languished in dream; the part of the song that Sulahn’nehn had been named for.

"Vir sulahn’nehn!  
Vir dirthera!  
Vir samahl la numin!  
Vir lath savunin!”

We sing, and rejoice. We tell the tales. We laugh and cry. We love another day. Truer words had never been meant for this day, the happiest day of Sulahn’nehn’s life, the day she married the god Fen’Harel. The spirits joyously sang the same words for minutes on end, soaring so sweetly as all who beheld it closed their eyes in ecstasy.

After what felt like an hour, though she did not tire as she stood by her greatest love, the sweet song of the spirits finally subsided. Josephine now approached her, smiling knowingly, holding a great crown of shining lyrium atop a soft red silk cushion. Her own covert wedding gift to her devoted Fen’lath.

She broke away from his loving embrace to take the crown from Josephine’s outstretched hands, holding it outstretched towards her slowly kneeling, bewildered lover as she finally declared the depth of how much he meant to her to the entirety of Thedas.

“On this day, I declare the Empire of New Elvhenan equally governed by our joined souls. In loving gratitude for your cherished assistance in closing the Breach, defeating Corypheus, returning the lost mysteries of Arlathan to the world and curing the Blight from the maddened pantheon, I name you Fen’Harel I, Emperor of New Elvhenan.”

She placed the crown on his head gracefully. Its light radiated onto his features; he looked more handsome than she had ever thought possible as he slowly rose, still gazing at her so lovingly, his dark, well kept hair shining so brightly under his glimmering coronet, his eyes such a pale, steely grey in the brilliance. She kissed him again, like it was the last time, as the crowd cheered.

They governed together from then on in blessed contentment. Sulahn’nehn and Fen’Harel righted the wrongs of the ancient elves who now began to flood her borders by returning the cities of Suledin and Qarinus to the Tevinter people, in exchange for the magister’s word that slavery would be abolished in Tevinter. She sent Cassandra’s Inquisition to ensure their compliance, and comply they did. Soon, slavery was but a distant, unpleasant memory to the people of Thedas.

The once great city of Arlathan continued to flounder, despite the aid sent by her wealthy empire. As Tevinter regained its strength, the elves found themselves without food or work, and they left for the luxurious inner borders of New Elvhenan proper. Eventually, she gave Arlathan itself to the Tevinter, the formerly warring city that lay so deep in their lands, as a show of good will. The ancient elves, who long brought their families and belongings far afield, did not protest.

Their empire grew mighty with the spread of ancient wisdom, and they built their glimmering crystal spires once again in the dense forests of the Emerald Graves as the ancient elves intermarried with the Dalish and city elves once more. They named their new city Revasan, city of freedom, the aspect now governed by its divine emperor.

The glories of ancient Elvhenan rose again in the elves’ promised lands, untainted by the cruel shame of slavery. Its people enjoyed a level of freedom and equality unheard of in ancient Arlathan, and the gods no longer marked their devoted with vallaslin, obediently removing the remaining magical leashes at their empress’s command.

The elves grew long in lifespan once again, thanks to the restored wisdom of the ancients. Soon, they replaced their ancient coming of age ritual with a new one: the first time a young elf entered uthenera, a process much more difficult and dependent on maturity than the blood-writing that came before it. Uthenera allowed the elves to live longer again. Blessedly, they found their fertility returning to them with their lifespans; as it transpired, the elven women did not reach a fully fertile state until the age of eighty, an age at which most elves had passed into the Beyond long ago.

Two hundred years passed in peace throughout the world as Sulahn’nehn turned her attentions to her divine task of curing all of Thedas itself of the blight. With Dal’Sulahn in hand and Fen’Harel ever at her side, she ventured far into the Deep Roads to seek the most blighted of the earth’s blood. For years, she sang as she searched. Finally, the land lay purified, healed, its scars melting away in Sulahn’nehn’s loving light.

Celene and Alistair lived long, fulfilling lives, passing away before Sulahn’nehn even saw her first wrinkle. Now, their great granddaughter reigned supreme over the peacefully united Empire of Orlais, named Briala I for the intelligent, immortal soul who was so dearly close to the royal family.

The gods relocated to Atish’an in the wake of Sulahn’nehn’s gift of Arlathan to the Tevinter. Mythal submitted to Fen’Harel’s will at the empress’s behest, and he guided the pantheon and the many devoted elves with reasoned, cunning wisdom, the humble, sweet man who became leader of the gods and emperor of the greatest empire in the land. Two great, shining thrones now gleamed high in the center of her throne room, in the midst of six equally brilliant stools.

Sulahn’nehn came to be revered, in her growing years, as she tirelessly served her increasingly immortal people. Her beauty never diminished, and all who worshipped her wondered at her loving kindness, singing their praises at her altar in the Pantheon with genuine affection for their generous empress. She became known as the goddess of Love, her statue a great, gleaming fennec, her most shameful exploits in youth now unsurprisingly twisted into morally sound tales of her wondrous blessings.

The gods themselves worshipped in the Pantheon, though not at their own altars, to the surprise of many. They meditated at the great altar of the Maker, in which Sulahn’nehn had placed Elgarn’an’s stolen symbol far above Andraste: a lone, shining sun. The star Solium, the divine being who created the world in his passionate love. Their true Maker. The shemlen had managed to stumble upon the truth after all.

One morning, in her great bed, Sulahn’nehn screamed in agony. Fen’Harel looked down at her in a worried frown, healing magic emanating endlessly from his powerful palms as she writhed. From aside, Briala watched in fascination, while Sera watched in horror.

She gave another great scream and stopped silent when she heard another cry join her own.

She looked down at her waist, where her divine love now gingerly held a small, squirming babe, its pointed ears so delicate and adorable. Exhausted, she held out her arms. He smiled, kissing her forehead as she felt the weight of the heir to the empire.

He was so small, so precious. She had thought fennecs were cute, but he was a tiny little person, looking around her in confusion as she tried to imagine him seeing the world for the first time. He was hers. More importantly, he was his

She beamed radiantly as she lay back on her many tufted pillows and held the sweet child, his grey eyes now closed, sleeping in her arms. He had a little tuft of red hair on his head already. He looked so much like her brother. She wondered how her brother would have fared, in the immortal glory she had brought the empire.

“Enasal,” she said softly to her son, the child her empire had eagerly awaited for centuries. She had always hoped to have a child one day, but her mother’s struggles had led her to repress that hope in fear of her own pain. And for all her wanton favors even after her marriage, as her sly lover did not mind any activity he was privileged enough to join, she had born no fruit of any kind. He was a miracle. A joyful relief. She began to understand why her mother had given her blessed first son such a name as she softly kissed his tiny head.

“Ar lath ma,” she said wistfully to her babe. She looked up to her other love, Fen’Harel, who was gazing at the scene in utmost joy.

She had walked so far to reach this point. Her path had been arduous, dismaying, painful, but also glorious and joyful. She had never expected to lose her clan when she left for the Conclave; she had no idea how much her life would change after the explosion left her with a mysterious divine mark. She had been forced into even more roles she never wanted as a reluctant dirthenera, first fighting against her own Vir Atish’an as the Herald of Andraste, then rising to Inquisitor. She had struggled against Corypheus, finally victorious as the land bowed to her might, allowing her to begin her rise as Empress Sulahn’nehn of New Elvhenan, the Goddess of Love.

She had lost so much in the process. She lost all of her clans, her faith, her family. But most of all she lost her heart. Whatever she had faced, it was worth it, because it brought her to him.

Her path was so happy now. She knew nothing but joy. She had truly blossomed in her aspect to the name her mother had intended for her. Sulahn’nehn, rejoiceful song. She was the bringer of the song of joy, as Mythal had said. Her path was now followed by many, out of devoted love, the Vir Sulahn’nehn that emphasized compassion and freedom above all else.

She raised her head and gazed at Fen’Harel searchingly. He took the hint.

As they held their precious baby heir together in their arms, the two lovers passionately kissed, as though it were the last time they would ever meet. The goddess of love, and the god of freedom. Sulahn’nehn and Fen’Harel. The fennec and the wolf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, I feel so much better now. That stupid egg broke me, I had to imagine the DLC where he finally tells her the truth :P
> 
> This story is super personal to me in a lot of ways. I went through some shitty family drama around when I got into Dragon Age: Inquisition. I tried to avoid my problems by jumping headfirst into Thedas, studying the lore and the wiki and the Elven language and the Elven pantheon like I was a goddamn Dalish elf.
> 
> This story grew first out of the head-canon I started to develop in my curiosity about the goddess Sylaise and where the gods got their powers. I already had this plot in mind- one of the first mental images I had was of her curing the gods in the Pantheon while the song of lyrium played. I wrote "Sulahn'nehn's Rise" first, from Solas's perspective, just to get his side of why he cared about her and thought she was a good person and seamlessly tie the events of my head-canon into the events of Inquisition that formed her character.
> 
> I was obviously very inspired by Patrick Weekes. He wrote pretty much all of the characters in the game I love most: Solas, for one, and also Iron Bull and Cole. But he also wrote the Masked Empire, a fucking AMAZING novel about Briala and Celene that you need to read if you haven't already. I love Briala, and used Celene as a foil for my own empress. I put some of that book's plot into my lore, too.
> 
> I didn't expect so much of my heart and soul to fall out into this thing while I was writing, but... here it is. My most fantastically impossible political ideals, my ideal culture (although there's probably a lot of STDs in Atish'an now, those slutty new elves), everything I care about most I put into Atish'an. Even my weird personal religion, because I'm a nerdy atheist but I do revere the sun, our star, where our molecules came from, without which we wouldn't survive on Earth. Even my environmental concerns played into how awful the ancient elves were to Thedas. Sulahn'nehn is as psychologically damaged from her experiences as I am, although I don't get a narrator to work out my problems for me. (I know, I know, I have to do that on my own. It's fucking hard. I'm trying, OK? I just wrote THIS damn thing in the attempt...)
> 
> And most of all, Sulahn'nehn's problems with her family are a reinvented version of my own troubles. I cried a lot writing the scenes where Sulahn'nehn comforts Dorian and Fen'Harel comforts her, because I was entirely speaking to myself. Sometimes you have to make your own family, from the friends you choose to love, because the people who are supposed to love you aren't always very good at it. The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.


End file.
